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No. 254 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS 


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BELINDA-AND 
SOME OTHERS 



NEW YORK 

D, APPLETON AND COMPANY 
1898 




20026 


Copyright, 1898, 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


All rights reserved, 

TwOCOPltS ReCtIVED. 



I 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — HALF-A-DOZEN I 

II. — In London town 27 

III. — We become householders .... 44 

IV. — Concerning art and literature ... 66 

V. — Concerning a first acquaintance . . 83 

VI. — Uncle Joshua’s visit 102 

VII. — We take in a boarder 122 

VIII. — A letter from Bohemia .... 143 

IX. — How Jack came of age . . . .152 

X. — We go to ambulance classes . . .180 

XI. — We require the doctor professionali^y . 202 

XII. — The conclusion of the whole matter . 218 


V 


















BELINDA-AND SOME OTHERS. 


CHAPTER 1. 

HALF-A-DOZEN. 

We were half-a-dozen, four girls and two 
boys. Our parents had a fancy for names 
terminating in a, but after christening me 
Maria, their memory proved unequal to the 
strain of four daughters, and they had re- 
course to novels for suggestions. Hence a 
Belinda, an Olivia, and a Pamela. The boys 
answered to the more every-day titles of Wil- 
liam and Jack. 

About our ages there were two points to 
remember. First, that Pamela was barely 
seventeen, and the youngest; secondly, that 
we were said to be the only annuals on record 
ever known to become perennials. 


2 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


Olivia, next in age to Pamela, was quick 
at assimilating modern notions. She tried 
to persuade us that small families at large 
distances are considered better form than the 
old-fashioned yearly method, and pointed out 
how by a little judicious rearrangement and 
borrowing a few years from the future, we 
could contrive to fall in with more recent 
ideas on population. Thus, Pamela was to 
remain seventeen — at which she grumbled a 
little; Olivia herself to move on to nineteen; 
William to twenty-one; Belinda to twenty- 
three; Jack to twenty-five; and I to twenty- 
seven. 

For once in our lives Belinda and I 
agreed. We snubbed Olivia, telling her we 
preferred to keep young and yet be out of 
date, when, nothing daunted, she hazarded 
that we should pair off in three lots of twins 
or two triplets. We might take our choice 
or decide by vote. But to this Jack objected. 
He said if we were orphans that was no rea- 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 


3 


son why we should be ridiculous, and begged 
Olivia to confine her theories on population 
to the cat. 

We lived at Riverside Court. The house 
and gardens, large, old-fashioned and pic- 
turesque, belonged to Uncle Joshua. We 
seldom spoke of him except to strangers; 
then “ our Uncle in South Africa ” came in 
handy as a peg to hang small talk upon and 
put us in touch with the outside world, for in 
this last decade of the century we had gained 
the notion that everything which was not 
Japanese was South African, and vice versa. 

When Uncle’s letter came saying he was 
returning to take possession of his own after 
an absence of twenty-five years, we called a 
family parliament to discuss the situation. 
Having all been born and grown up in “ The 
Court,” this sudden facing of the fact that 
though ours by habitation, association, and 
spoliation, legally it was Joshua Chilcott’s — 
his and his alone — rather overwhelmed us 


4 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


and checked that flow of high spirits, ever 
our cheerful characteristic. Even Jinks was 
subdued. 

Jinks would have been a Yorkshire ter- 
rier had not his intentions been frustrated. 
When extreme youth prevented anyone de- 
ciding his exact value save his first owner, 
who turned out to be mistaken in assessing 
it at twelve guineas. Jinks was bought by 
a great friend of ours to be used as a muff- 
warmer. Shortly, she sent him to Belinda, 
saying he grew at such a rate she felt sure in 
time he would be a Newfoundland. Belinda 
hoped he would, but unfortunately his devel- 
opment ceased when too large for any of 
the smaller breed of dogs and too small for 
any of the larger. He retained a few of the 
Yorkshire points about the head, but his 
body and legs no one was ever able to qualify. 
His temper was above reproach, and we loved 
him none the less that his appearance was 
unique even for a mongrel. 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 5 

We had always known that Riverside 
Court belonged to uncle, that in fact we 
were keeping it warm for him. But after 
so many years some of the warmth — of pos- 
session — had stolen unawares into our own 
souls. We had, too, always fallen back on 
the reflection that no South African million- 
aire would care to live in such a tumble-down 
old place. 

We had no authority for believing our 
relative a millionaire. It was just part of our 
way to look on the bright side of things. 

William said, now and again, we must not 
forget that Americans — and if Americans, 
why not Africans? — will go into ecstasies 
over picturesque dilapidations and give fabu- 
lous prices for an air of ancient discomfort, 
combined with draughts, such as haunted 
The Court. But then William’s notions 
were out of harmony with the rest of the 
family’s. He was so intensely practical from 
his youth up, that we suspected him of being 


6 


BELINDA—AND SOME OTHERS. 


a changeling. His temperament belonged to 
the era of wool mats and glass cases, and 
he was entirely without the artistic tenden- 
cies with which his sisters and brothers were 
richly endowed. 

But to return to Uncle. 

His coming home at all was a surprise. 
When we learned that he would put foot on 
English soil as poor a man as when he left it, 
we were grieved as well as surprised. His 
personal appearance, however, proved the 
greatest shock we had to encounter. We 
expected what is termed a burly man,’’ 
topped by a pleasant rosy face, and surround- 
ed by a hearty — even noisy — manner. One 
who might possibly wear side-whiskers, and 
probably a thick gold watch-chain; who 
would laugh immoderately at his own jokes 
and never see his neighbour’s. His alphabet 
would be badly arranged. The letter h, for 
instance, would constantly be detected in the 
wrong place. At first, we should feel a trifle 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 


7 

ashamed of this rough diamond; later, his 
sterling qualities, aided by a large fortune — 
brought over in the original nuggets — would 
oust this false pride and we should value him 
accordingly. 

Belinda, whose artistic tendencies were 
balanced by some other qualities, was not 
sure about the h. She said the abuse of this 
letter is an hereditary failing, like insanity or 
consumption; but being less interesting, it is 
not so often mentioned by descendants. Now, 
neither of our grandparents were known to 
have been wanting in aspirates; why there- 
fore should Joshua, their eldest son? At any 
rate, she, for one, would hope for the best. 

Uncle arrived, pale, small, and thin; 
clean-shaven, save for a slight moustache, 
and speaking with a pedantic nicety as to his 
choice of words in a hesitating manner. 

He knew more about current events than 
we did; but of course one is obliged to read 
up home news when abroad, or it would look 


8 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


as if you could not afford a paper. He wrote 
again on landing at Liverpool, asking us to 
get the house ready for him, but begging us 
not to leave until he had made our acquaint- 
ance; though he intimated, apologetically, 
that we should have to find another home, 
as he hardly felt justified in supporting half 
a dozen. 

Along with our artistic tendencies we had 
inherited two hundred pounds a year, which 
divided by six gave us each thirty-three 
pounds annually. Some said there was a 
lawyer’s fee round as well. I took this state- 
ment on trust, owning a dislike to figures. 
We had lived rent free for so long, surround- 
ed by a garden which throve upon neglect 
and produced vegetables and weeds with the 
same reckless impartiality, that we had never 
realised what in an elastic sum our income 
was. William too, though he slept openly — 
i. e. with his mouth open — when we discussed 
the wailings of the last minor poet, was intelli- 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 


9 

gent at keeping the hens up to their duty, 
and understood the ways of pigs with a thor- 
oughness that suggested a weakness for ba- 
con and considerably reduced the household 
expenses. 

For the first time in our remembrance 
finance assumed a really serious aspect. 

'' We must go to London,’’ said Belinda, 
who, though not the eldest, had, by long 
usurpation, gained the right of speaking first 
on every matten There is so much more 
scope for talent in London. With what in- 
come we have and what we shall make we 
might manage very well. I have prepared a 
little estimate of expenses.” 

She pulled a bit of paper out of her pocket 
and read out: — 

“ ‘ Rent .... ;^40 o o 

Housekeeping . 75 o o 

Dre^s for four . 6000 

Servant ... 15 00 

Five dogs’ licenses i 17 6 ' 


Total . ;^i9i 17 6* 


lO 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


There's eight pounds two-and-six-pence 
over," she concluded modestly. ‘‘ But of 
course unexpected expenses are sure to crop 
up. You see I haven't calculated anything 
beyond food and lodging for the boys — of 
course they will make their own pocket 
money." 

You haven't calculated for the rates and 
taxes either," replied William. '^And one 
pound seventeen-and-six for dogs' licenses 
seems a large item compared with thirty bob 
a week for housekeeping — I don't think we 
can take the puppies." 

Belinda was silent. She had a theory 
that people only argue when they mean to 
give in. She had every intention of taking 
the four collie puppies, whose mother had 
died with brown eyes pleading humanly with 
us to guard her children. 

Jack looked glum. I shall have to give 
up Art, and take to Caricature," he sighed 
despondently. 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 


II 


You might begin with William/’ replied 
Belinda, remembering his criticism on her es- 
timate. 

I hastened to throw oil upon the waters. 

’Tis true that William is a plain boy, 
Belinda, but then he is useful. It is not often 
that people combine both use and ornament 
— like you and I. Take Jack for instance, 
he is ornamental, very, but who could call 
him UwSeful? ” 

Belinda then went on to tell us how she 
had made up her mind to become a fashion 
artist. It was — apparently — the easiest thing 
in the world. All you had to do was to keep 
your eyes open; go about among well- 
dressed people, come home, sketch the 
dresses, add ideas of your own, send them 
to some ladies’ paper — and there you were ! 

Belinda had had a passion for dress from 
her earliest infancy. At six months, so tra- 
dition ran, she wore her sash with an air of 
distinction, and evinced a desire for a shoe 


12 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


to be put on one foot and a boot on the other, 
under the impression that it added style to 
her tootsies.’’ At twenty she had various 
dodges known only to herself for making a 
small allowance go a long way. She would 
put real flowers in her hat, spreading a little 
gum on the leaves to give them a false ap- 
pearance. Even the insects were taken in. 
There was frequently, to use an old and 
homely expression, a bee in Belinda’s bonnet. 
Then by judiciously choosing a material that 
knew its right side from its wrong, and a 
great deal of sewing, she appeared to have 
two dresses to her sisters’ one. 

Belinda’s figure was all her own; among 
us all she alone possessed a standing pose 
that a soldier might have envied, and move- 
ments which were the graceful outcome of 
slim yet rounded proportions. Mine was 
somewhat similar, but accentuated, very ac- 
centuated; and Olivia’s a trifle like it, but 
elongated, decidedly elongated. But figure 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 


13 

apart, Pamela was the beauty of the family. 
She had hair the colour of the copper beech's 
leaves in the young, young days of Spring; 
and her eyes were like the glimpses of blue sky 
between its branches. When Pamela was 
near, we racked our brains for some old dear- 
loved joke to make her smile, for then we saw 
the dimple in the upturned chin, and the small 
white teeth. Pamela never laughed without 
faintly blushing, and never blushed without 
smiling as if amused at her own foolishness in 
letting the swift colour dye her lovely face 
from brow to chin. She was clever at ar- 
ranging flowers, and once won a prize at the 
local flower show, and was quite an adept at 
making trifles that sell well at bazaars. We 
hardly liked to ask her what occupation she 
intended adopting, she looked too young to 
have decided opinions. But this proved a 
fallacy when she announced a firm intention 
of teaching drawing only in a private family. 
Jack feared it would be a difficult post to get. 


14 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


You will probably find/’ he said, ‘‘ that 
a thorough knowledge of English, conver- 
sational French, German, Elementary Latin, 
calisthenics and dancing must be thrown in 
as well; and perhaps you’ll have to undertake 
the harmonium also.” 

Pamela and Jack did not always agree. 
On this occasion she resented his superior 
information. 

‘‘ Of course you must put your spoke in,” 
she said flippantly. 

We did not ask William his intentions. 
They invariably tended toward dry subjects. 
He had a great facility for figures, had learnt 
shorthand as a pastime, and found double 
entry a pleasure. His education, as a whole, 
had been desultory, run on the lines of never 
attempting to master any uncongenial sub- 
ject. The result was somewhat curious: he 
came out head of the school in mathematics, 
could place any spot on the globe and give 
its longitude from memory, and had an idea 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 


15 

that Edward III. and Charles II. were broth- 
ers. Belinda said power of concentration 
was a feature of great minds, and we felt 
that William would get on. For some few 
months he had earned a small salary, together 
with experience, as a clerk to a solicitor in 
our local town of D . 

So Jack decided to spurn Art and em- 
brace Caricature; Belinda also to spurn Art 
and embrace Fashions: — some have been 
known to say these also come under the 
heading of Caricature. Pamela’s hopes, on 
the other hand, were founded on a School of 
Art Certificate for Freehand. William had 
no ideals, and his career promised to be suc- 
cessful but uninteresting. 

There only remained Olivia and my- 
self. 

I was not as clever as Belinda; I did not 
know as much as Olivia. They acknowl- 
edged it themselves. Until we were more 
settled, I decided to be the utility member of 


l6 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

the company, to which my relatives gracious- 
ly agreed. 

Around Olivia our hopes of fame centred. 
She had written poems that had met with 
encouragement from an author whose criti- 
cism she requested, at the same time beseech- 
ing his autograph, with many pretty adjec- 
tives respecting its value, enclosing a 
stamped envelope for reply. She did not 
know where he lived, so she put his name and 
“ London ” merely as the address. In after 
years this circumstance led her to believe that 
the letter fell into the hands of a mere tyro in 
literature of the same name as the great man’s 
she had intended it to reach, which account- 
ed for the ready sympathy and generous ap- 
preciation of the reply. These same poems 
were afterward published — gratuitously — in a 
weekly paper. In the face of so much suc- 
cess, she felt it wrong not to persevere. 

In person Olivia was not as pretty as Pa- 
mela; her hair was more red than gold, and 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 


17 

her eyes in some lights looked black and in 
some green. Still she was handsome in her 
own way. It was a way that included a 
pocket frequently hanging out of her plac^ 
quet-hole, and a good many inkspots dis- 
tributed about her person. William asserted 
his height as five foot nine, Olivia put hers at 
five foot seven; that they both looked exactly 
the same length to the casual observer she 
attributed to her hair, and her heels — though 
William was not bald, nor deficient in boot- 
leather. 

Olivia read much, and had ideas. She 
also had a typewriter, bought second-hand 
after much self-denial and saving of pocket 
money, because her handwriting was so illegi- 
ble that an irate editor once returned her a 
manuscript simply accompanied by a huge 
interrogation point which defaced the entire 
front page. 

To learn the typewriter thoroughly she 
undertook to edit a private magazine and 


1 8 BELINDA~AND SOME OTHERS. 

type the contributions herself. These latter 
came in — from the few friends who had prom- 
ised to patronise the venture — so irregularly 
that more often than not the editress wrote 
the whole magazine herself, signing each 
article with a different pseudonym, rather 
than be behindhand with her literary effort. 
Those who read the magazine noticed the 
similarity of style, and concluded that it came 
from all the articles passing through the same 
machine. 

Olivia had a longing to enter Bohemia 
and mingle with the great in Literature, 
Art, and the Drama, so we were not surprised 
when she said she had no intention of leaving 
the Barlock ” behind for Uncle Joshua to 
play the fool with.’’ For a person who 
could compose poetry, Olivia’s conversa- 
tional prose often struck me as being a little 
hard. 

William, who was very fond of Olivia, 
offered to teach her shorthand (in the fort- 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 


19 

night that was left to us before leaving The 
Court) as a set-off to type-writing. 

And you must practise hard at typing, 
too; forty or fifty words a minute is generally 
required, and you never got beyond twenty.’’ 

But Olivia hoped to obtain a post as sec- 
retary to a poet, for whom speed would be 
less important. She knew from experience 
that some words — such as obnoxious or galaxy 
— are slow to rhyme. 

By the time we had discussed our plans 
well we grew quite excited at the thought of 
what lay before us. After all, life would be 
life in London, whereas in the country it 
was only existence. I decided to go up to 
town early one morning, returning the 
same day, and take rooms from which we 
could more leisurely seek an unfurnished resi- 
dence. 

It came upon us with quite a shock to re- 
member that we had no furniture. With the 
exception of the Barlock, Pamela’s guitar, 


20 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


Jack^s easel and lay figure, William’s bicycle, 
Belinda’s dress stand, my sewing machine, 
our golf clubs, tennis racquets, cricket bats, 
and a few trifles, everything in the house was 
Uncle Joshua’s. 

Pamela could make pincushions and tea- 
cosies, whilst Jack had a set of dessert doy- 
leys he had etched for a wedding present. 
The wedding never came off, and he put them 
carefully by. Belinda considered these arti- 
cles — when we enumerated them — insuffi- 
cient. 

We don’t want our new house to look 
as if had been furnished with things left over 
from a bazaar! ” she cried. 

We must take a furnished house,” said 
Olivia, to begin with.” 

Had. Uncle Joshua been returning a 
wealthy man, we might have found it incum- 
bent to make some show of appearances; but 
as he was, if not an actual pauper, at least a 
person of straitened means, we felt that our 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 


21 


usual mode of life would best fall in with his 
mood. 

The night he arrived, therefore, there was 
cold ham, scrambled eggs, salad, baked po- 
tatoes, and a Dutch cheese for supper. 

Uncle Joshua had no appetite. 

Together with Mary, our servant for 
many and many a year, we had made some 
attempt at tidying the house. Pamela filled 
every corner with fresh spring flowers, and 
made a new pincushion for Uncle’s room; 
and Belinda Contrived to arrange the fur- 
niture so that the hole in the dining- 
room carpet did not show on first acquaint- 
ance. 

Olivia cried so much at the prospect of 
leaving The Court that she was obliged to 
excuse herself from the supper-table, and 
only came Jnto the drawing-room when sure 
that the lamp-shade was arranged to ad- 
vantage. 

After supper. Uncle asked if there was 


22 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


a train into D again that evening. On 

hearing there was, he hurriedly determined 
to catch it, begging us not to sit up for 
him. 

William, too, vanished. 

A couple of hours passed. We had dis- 
cussed our relative with much breadth of 
criticism from every point of view, when Wil- 
liam reappeared. Closing the door, he sat 
down, a broad grin betokening some inward 
amusement. He too had gone into town 
unknown to Uncle Joshua, who on reaching 

D Station had gone straight to the 

nearest hotel and ordered himself a dinner 
of several courses and a bottle of expensive 
wine. 

'' For a poor mail,” concluded William, 
with a sigh, he has an uncommon relish for 
delicacies.” 

Olivia, hearing the sigh, hurried out of 
the room with that thoughtfulness she be- 
stowed impartially upon William and herself 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 


23 


to fetch Dutch cheese and a glass of ale. 
Meanwhile Belinda gave utterance to her dis- 
approval of William’s conduct. What right 
had he to follow Uncle, and, worse still, be 
seen hanging about the hotel windows? Of 
course Uncle wouldn’t get rid of expensive 
habits all at once. 

They will drop off by degrees,” she 

said. 

‘^Well, there’s no sign of decay at pres- 
ent,” responded William. 

We agreed to take our departure on the 
Tuesday following Uncle’s arrival. He 
brought but a small amount of luggage with 
him; but on the Monday prior to our going, 
as we came in from paying a farewell call 
upon some neighbours we found the hall full 
to overflowing with boxes and cases of every 
sort, shape, and size. 

It’s the rest of your Uncle’s luggage, 
miss,” whispered Mary importantly. 

Uncle looked rather shamefacedly on. 


24 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


Skins and things/’ he murmured once, 
catching Belinda’s eye. 

‘‘I see,” replied Belinda politely; ‘'what 
a good shot you must be! ” 

“ Wouldn’t you like one of the girls to 
stay behind and help you to unpack? ” asked 
Jack. 

But Uncle thought he could manage. 

“ I must get used to doing things for my- 
self,” he sighed. Poor Uncle! 

Olivia and Pamela wept bitterly on the 
day of departure. They went round the 
house arm-in-arm, giving little farewell pats 
to favourite window-seats, and kissed the 
trees and shrubs in the garden, picking a leaf 
off each as a keepsake, the result being a bou- 
quet of unwieldy dimensions. 

Uncle followed them, looking as if he had 
something on his mind, but could not put it 
into words. 

Belinda, half resentful, half eager, 
marched out of the gate with a puppy 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 2$ 

under each arm and Jinks at her heels. 
William came next, bearing miscellane- 
ous articles so many and curious as would 
have mortified anyone less devoid of the 
sense of the ridiculous; I, guilty with the 
knowledge of a few etceteras packed in the 
family trunk that scarcely came under the 
heading of our own possessions, brought up 
the rear with Jack, looking ashamed of the 
general exodus. 

Uncle stood on the front door-step, small 
and lonely; at least we were together. 

Uncle,’’ I cried, running back, mind 
you send for us if you get ill. I’ve told Mary 
to order you New Zealand meat, it will save 
you a lot; and don’t burn candles, oil is so 
much cheaper.” 

Half-way to the station Pamela recollect- 
ed leaving her umbrella in the schoolroom. 
Would Jack run back for it? Jack did, and 
only had time to fling himself into the car- 
riage as the train was moving. 


26 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


''Joshua was smoking a cigar that cost 
something, Td bet,” he said savagely. Jack's 
one weakness was tobacco. 

For a poor man, Uncle certainly had ex- 
pensive tastes. 


r 


CHAPTER IL 

IN LONDON TOWN. 

The rooms I had selected on my previous 
visit to London were in Gower Street, 
When we arrived the landlady said I had for- 
gotten to tell her beforehand I was bringing 
five dogs as well as five sisters and brothers. 
She stood dubiously casting about in her 
mind whether the animals should be allowed 
to remain, when Belinda stepped forward 
and settled the question. 

We must find rooms elsewhere, if you 
object to the dogs. I thought,’’ she con- 
tinued plaintively, that everyone knew Miss 
Belinda Chilcott never travelled without her 
dogs.” 

The landlady glanced at the puppies. 

3 27 


28 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


They could not as yet walk straight upon four 
legs, much less two: the notion that we 
earned a livelihood from canine performances 
faded from her mind. 

Belinda grew a little depressed upon find- 
ing the muzzling order in full force in the 
Metropolis. It entailed buying five muzzles 
— indeed, more than five; for the puppies not 
having developed any features worth men- 
tioning, the muzzles came off so frequently 
in the street that we took sides on the ques- 
tion whether it was less expensive to buy new 
ones or pay the fine inflicted on unmuzzled 
owners. 

The first evening in London we talked a 
great deal, more even than usual. Pamela 
spoke feelingly of the Past, and Olivia dis- 
cussed the Future; by the tone of her voice 
she spelt it with a capital F. 

Belinda observed that if one looked well 
after the Present, the Future and the Past, 
especially the Past, had a way of taking care 


IN LONDON TOWN. 


29 

of themselves; and Jack asked if we had no- 
ticed what a long way off Riverside Court al- 
ready seemed to be. William put the dis- 
tance at eighty-five miles; but Jack, it turned 
out, was speaking of that curious sense of dis- 
tance which falls upon one on leaving an old 
familiar pasture for new scenes. 

We all wondered — at intervals — what 
Uncle was doing; and we all looked forward 
to going to bed, partly because we were tired, 
partly because it would be such a good oppor- 
tunity to shed a few quiet tears. 

At eleven o’clock we recollected we had 
not unpacked. William, knowing women 
took a considerable time in undoing boxes, 
excused himself and retired, saying if by good 
chance we came across his pyjamas, would 
we send them up to him, as it was stiff work 
sleeping in a starched shirt. 

The next morning Jack determined to 
spend sitting by the window and take notes 
with his pencil. 


30 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


You see, girls,’’ he explained, on first 
coming to a big city like London, points 
strike you which, after a few months’ resi- 
dence, you would pass over unnoticed. So 
I’ll sit here and do a couple of sketches and 
send them to the Daily Graphic on the chance 
of their being accepted.” 

You might do a series and call them 
' First Impressions of a Country Bumpkin,’ ” 
suggested I, but Jack did not fall in readily 
with this hint. 

“ I’m not a bumpkin,” he said aggriev- 
edly. 

Belinda, Olivia, and I went out to look at 
the shops. Belinda, without taking us into 
her confidence, all at once entered a smart 
milliner’s, requesting to be shown some hats. 
She selected three or four expensive models 
and directed them to be sent immediately 
round, giving our address. 

If I keep one, I shall of course, as I am 
not yet a customer of yours, pay on delivery.” 


IN LONDON TOWN. 


31 

She laid great stress on the yet and was 
bowed out with ceremony. She next went 
to a draper’s, where she purchased a straw 
shape, some flowers and ribbons, and we then 
returned to our temporary dwelling. 

Jack, tempted by the April sunshine, had 
gone out, leaving his sketch-book on the 
table. 

Jack is right,” observed Olivia critically. 

Uncle Joshua’s nose is not a point which 
would strike the resident Londoner in Gower 
Street.” 

The hats came shortly after we had got 
in. Belinda having kindly oflfered the er- 
rand-boy who brought them a chair in the 
hall and a Pick-Me-Up to pass the time, tried 
them all on, and then selecting the one which 
pleased her most, placed it in front of her on 
the table, and with a liberal supply of pins in 
a few minutes fashioned her own materials 
on the shape she had bought in excellent 
imitation of the Paris model. She then re- 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


32 

packed the hats carefully, and sallied out to 
the boy. 

“ Tell Madame Pompon Miss Chilcott is 
sorry none of them are exactly what she re- 
quires. I will call again some day soon/' 

“ Belinda is said Pamela, with em- 

phasis. 

This, unfinished saying had become quite 
a proverb in the family, and expressed much 
which it would not have done to put in more 
explicit form. 

Belinda came back smiling, and sat down 
to tot up the price of her new hat on the back 
of an envelope. 

‘‘ Seven-and-six, and quite as good " — 
here, seeing the difference between velvet and 
velveteen in my eye, she repeated obstinate- 
ly — ‘‘ quite as good as the two-guinea 
model/' 

As a precaution against overstepping our 
income, Olivia had divided a small account- 
book into three divisions, wherein, when she 


IN LONDON TOWN. 


33 

remembered, she entered the family expendi- 
ture. The first division was headed; 

“ THE NECESSARIES OF LIFE,” 

the second — 

“ THINGS POSSIBLE TO DO WITHOUT,” 

and the third — 

“ SUPERFLUOUS EXTRAVAGANCES.” 

Olivia was fond of long words. 

Producing this book from her pocket, she 
turned severely to the third division, and 
glanced interrogatively at Belinda. 

“ My hat! ” exclaimed that person, cheer- 
fully, trying it on again to see if it would 
look more chic back foremost — “ Oh, of 
course it must go under the necessaries of 
life.” 

Olivia objected. “ You could do without 
a hat; witness the Bluecoat boys, for in- 
stance.” 


34 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


After some argument it was entered as a 
thing difficult to do without. 

Olivia wished we would remind her al- 
ways to put down the items, and not take it 
upon ourselves to interfere. 

‘‘ Here's William," she complained, '' has 
entered the laundress as a superfluous ex- 
travagance, and Jack has put down gamboge 
as a necessity of life! " 

Jack had also put down tobacco under 
Things Possible to do Without," the tail of 
the O trailed away until it ran over the edge 
of the book. Olivia said it reminded her 
of a long-drawn sigh, which remark so 
worked upon Pamela's feelings that she 
seized the book and wrote ‘‘ Vinolia " — the 
name of a soap to which she was much ad- 
dicted — in stern characters in the column de- 
voted to chronicling extravagance. Belinda 
told us how she always found small indul- 
gences economical in the end, they saved her 
wear and tear of temper. 


IN LONDON TOWN. 


35 

After lunch we decided to go house-hunt- 
ing. 

“We shall cover a larger area and meet 
with more results if we divide,” said William. 

So we settled to go in two parties — Jack 
to take Belinda and me, whilst William es- 
corted Olivia and Pamela. 

We asked the landlady to give us her 
opinion on localities. 

“ London’s a large place,” she observed 
in answer: after repeating this opinion sev- 
eral times, she advised us to look in a map 
of the Metropolis and ofifered to lend us 
hers. 

William’s idea was to cross through all 
districts we knew to be impossible. It was 
not until the map was well scored with ink, 
and Bloomsbury was obliterated by a huge 
blot, that we remembered it was the land- 
lady’s. 

“ We shall have to buy a new one now,” 
grumbled Olivia: “ I shall put it down as an 


36 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

extravagance caused by William’s bump of 
destruction.” 

After we had rejected Park Lane, and the 
district round Hyde Park, Harley Street, 
Eaton Square, and Pall Mall, there still re- 
mained considerable choice. 

“ Westminster must also be scratched 
through,” said Pamela, because it’s sure to 
be ruinous, the M.Ps. must live near the 
House.” 

So Westminster was struck off, also Ham- 
mersmith, we could not of course live in 
Hammersmith. Olivia inclined .to Bays- 
water. She had a notion that it was another 
name for Bohemia; afterward she discovered 
that they both began with a B, but there 
the similarity terminated somewhat abruptly. 
Finally she, Pamela, and William started for 
Bayswater. 

Jack remained poring over the map. He 
had heard Sloane Square was very central 
and convenient. 


IN LONDON TOWN. 


37 

“ Here’s a little unimportant-looking 
street! ” he exclaimed. 

We looked where he pointed. It was 
Cadogan Street. We decided to try it, 
though I seemed to remember it in connec- 
tion with Society paragraphs — in which 
case ... 

However, as the Irishman said, starting 
saves time even if you go in the wrong direc- 
tion; and we sallied forth to explore the 
neighbourhood of Sloane Square. 

We took an omnibus and were some time 
on the road, exactly how long we did not 
know. Jack had a gold watch and chain; 
the watch did not go on account of the 
mainspring being broken, but it looked 
well. William had a Waterbury, which went 
excellently but looked — well, it looked 
just a Waterbury. When he had quar- 
ter of an hour to spare he wound it up, 
if pressed for time one of the girls did 
it for him. Jack’s watch kept up the 


38 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

family appearances and William’s kept the 
time. 

We changed ’buses three times between 
Gower Street and Sloane Square. The last 
one put us down at Cadogan Place. We had 
sat on the outside, the driver genially point- 
ing out places of interest with his whip as we 
went by. 

The minit Oi clapt heyes hon yer, I 
sez, ’Ere’s some ’Mericans. ’Mericans they 
hallus wears them soft ’ats.” 

Belinda trod on Jack’s toe to prevent his 
patriotism denying this false charge. 

‘‘ It’s better to be considered Americans 
than country cousins,” she whispered; but 
Jack still looked sick at his artistic hat being 
thought Yankee. 

We wandered about various streets, ter- 
races, and places labelled Cadogan. There 
did not seem to be any houses to let, so at 
length we asked a policeman to direct us to 
an estate agency. 


IN LONDON TOWN. 


39 

Belinda insisted on going in alone. She 
had on her new hat, and her brown hair be- 
neath it was arranged in the extreme of fash- 
ion. We waited outside. 

Tm not sure, Maria,'’ said Jack, mood- 
ily, that if you go to work in Belinda's way, 
a new hat doesn't rightly come under the ne- 
cessities of life." 

When Belinda reappeared she related 
how she had first asked if there were any flats 
to let in the neighbourhood, from flats she 
got on to houses. One of the latter had been 
let, the agent said, that morning, at four 
hundred pounds per annum. Belinda 
found this vexatious, as it seemed, by de- 
scription, to be just what she required. The 
interview concluded by the agent promising 
to send a list of any houses he thought 
suitable. 

It's my opinion," said I, that we shall 
have to live in the suburbs." 

“ Of course," continued Belinda, I knew 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


40 

from the look of these houses the rents would 
be enormous.'^ 

Then why did you go on making en- 
quiries? ’’ queried Jack morosely. 

I might be able to take one some day/' 
answered Belinda. 

We received this information with silent 
contempt. Who was Belinda that she 
should — and could — imagine herself in Cado- 
gan Place, whilst we meditated upon the ad- 
vantages of the suburbs? 

After some tea in an aerated bread shop, 
we retraced our way slowly to Gower Street. 
It was six o'clock before we got in, finding 
the others had arrived before us. 

At first they had wondered that Bays- 
water was so little known, for the omnibus 
conductor on being told to put them down 
there kept on repeating Where? " 

It subsequently transpired," said Olivia, 
that he meant where m Bayswater? " 

William, whose survey of the map had left 


IN LONDON TOWN. 


41 

a complete impression on his mind, men- 
tioned the Queen’s Road as their desired des- 
tination. On passing a house agent’s he had 
entered, and, with that total contempt for 
appearances which was ever his peculiarity, 
asked for particulars of the cheapest house 
on the books. 

The clerk replied he had nothing under 
fifty pounds a year, and that could only by 
courtesy be termed Bayswater. 

“ You won’t get what you want, sir, out- 
side the suburbs.” 

“ Then I should be so glad,” went on 
William, “ if you would give me a few 
hints as to the suburbs most pleasant to 
live in. I am ” (here he glanced affection- 
ately at Pamela) “ soon going to be mar- 
ried.” 

The clerk was young; he grew sympa- 
thetic and confidential, telling them how he, 
too, soon hoped to be married and set up 
his domestic tent in some suburban Arcadia. 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


42 

The amount of information he delivered in a 
short space of time was amazing. 

Feeling that William had a real talent for 
house-hunting, we accepted his offer to be 
the pioneer in this affair. 

“ And I will go alone, too,” he went on, 
it will be cheaper: why, just we three going 
about to-day made such a hole in two bob, 
that what change there was dropped through 
and got lost for ever.” 

Oh! go alone, by all means,” we cried, 
and when you find anything suitable we’ll 
go in a body and criticise it.” 

Then somebody suggested it was a pity 
to waste the evening, could we not manage a 
theatre? So we hurried over supper and 
started. Some inclined to the Lyceum, but 
William said that the agent’s clerk when 
discussing the merits of no basements com- 
pared to areas had mentioned what an ex- 
ceedingly enjoyable play was Charley’s 
Aunt.” 


IN LONDON TOWN. 


43 


“ It will do Pamela good to have a laugh,” 
finished our considerate brother. 

Although it was past midnight when we 
returned, Olivia hunted up the account-book 
of expenditure. She ruled the inside of the 
cover and entered, “ Charley's Aunt," six 
seats thirty shillings. 

“ It seemed to require a new heading,” 
she said, closing the book, “ so I have put it 
under Educational.” 


4 


CHAPTER III. 


WE BECOME HOUSEHOLDERS. 

So it was owing to William that we be- 
came the tenants of Number 3 Triangle 
Lawn, Brick Park, S.W. 

After he had explored some eight suburbs 
and inspected between fifty and sixty houses, 
he grew quite opinionated on the subject 
of suburban dwellings, and declared that we 
never could, never should, get a house to suit 
us better than the one at Brick Park. On 
condition that we did all the necessary repairs 
at our own expense, the landlord took five 
pounds off the rent, which brought it down to 
thirty-five. It was not a bad little house. Its 
exterior was neat and quasi-rural, with creep- 
ers covering red brick and wooden windows. 
44 


WE BECOME HOUSEHOLDERS. 


45 

The rooms, if small, were numerous and airy; 
the details of rates, taxes, soil, and drains 
appeared satisfactory — only, well, we were a 
little vexed with William in that he had for- 
gotten to keep in mind those points for which 
we had especially stipulated. 

Jack had begged him to remember that a 
north light is as essential to an artist as his 
india-rubber. No. 3 faced due east and west. 
William, in excuse, said he had always under- 
stood that dawn and sunset were favourite 
effects with artists. Jack said: William’s 
all right, but he’s so silly! ” 

Belinda, too, was irritated, which with her 
meant irritable as well. The ends of two bor- 
oughs met on the triangular green lawn 
which gave our road its name; the muzzling 
order was in force in one borough, and not in 
the other. It was obvious to everyone ex- 
cept William that we should have taken 
No. 33 instead of No. 3, where the puppies 
could have played about the road unmuzzled. 


46 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

Belinda did not take into account that No. 33 
was so near the railway line that its last oc- 
cupants had left, saying they had rented a 
railway-station unawares. 

Pamela, too, cried when she discovered 
there were no bow-windows, but cheered up a 
little when Olivia pointed out the possibilities 
of four cosy corners in the drawing-room. 

I was content; a box-room large enough 
for three boxes, and two cupboards on the 
stairs, so far surpassed my expectations. So 
too was Olivia, who openly acknowledged 
her liking for the house, at which the dis- 
contented ones hinted at the immediate 
neighbourhood of a Free Library as a motive 
for this partiality. 

We had at first entertained some idea of 
furnishing on ’the hire system; but on inter- 
viewing the furniture to be paid for by instal- 
ments, we decided that though the system 
might be the hire, our spirits would certainly 
be the lower for having those artistic tend- 


WE BECOME HOUSEHOLDERS. 


47 

encies before mentioned brought in daily 
contact with such jarring ugliness. 

“We must pick up things at sales,” said 
Olivia, vaguely; “and at curio-shops, I be- 
lieve, bric-a-brac and old oak can be got for a 
mere song.” 

William objected to picking up his bed at 
a sate. 

“ I might,” he said, “ get more than I 
bargained for.” 

William was not over-refined. 

Ultimately we sold out a small sum of 
capital, determining to make it sufficient to 
cover the adornment of our new house. 

Pamela wrote to the editress of a column 
devoted to hints on house-furnishing in a 
lady’s paper. After we had spent all we had 
to spend and a few sixpences' beside in buy- 
ing the paper each week, the answer ap- 
peared. It' declared that Pamela had forgot- 
ten to comply with most of the rules for cor- 
respondents, and hinted that she would not 


48 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

be replied to again unless she conformed to 
the etiquette of the column. She had also 
omitted to state how many rooms her house 
contained, and what sum she contemplated 
lavishing on its decoration. If she would 
write these details, clearly and fully, stating 
her favourite colours and styles of furnishing, 
she should be answered at length. Mean- 
while she was not to purchase anything in a 
hurry. 

We left Gower Street early on the morn- 
ing of the day we were to take possession of 
the house. A charwoman, who had been 
sent by the landlord to clean the house, ad- 
mitted us. We engaged her to come every 
day until we were more settled, when we 
should write for Mary, who had promised to 
follow us. 

The porters when they brought our lug- 
gage seemed a little surprised to leave it in a 
totally empty house. Belinda, as she gave 
them a liberal tip, asked them if they had no- 


WE BECOME HOUSEHOLDERS. 


49 

ticed a large Whiteley’s van on the road. 
When they replied in the negative, her atten- 
tion had wandered and she forgot to look sur- 
prised. 

The greater part of that morning we 
spent in criticising the house and apportion- 
ing the rooms. The furniture — that small 
amount we had bought as a start-off whilst 
we looked round to choose more at leisure — • 
arrived in driblets. The beds came first; 
they were all alike, with mattresses and bol- 
sters and one blanket each. When purchas- 
ing these it had struck me forcibly how even 
a little figure like one when multiplied by six 
has a way of mounting up into unexpected 
totals. 

The dining-room suite followed. We 
had bought it at a bureau often advertised, 
where people send their superfluous house- 
hold goods to be sold for a charity. After 
some experience of the chairs we unanimous- 
ly agreed that whatever cause the charity was 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


SO 

to benefit, no advantage was supposed to ac- 
crue to the purchasers. 

It was afternoon before the crockery ap- 
peared. It came at last, and our spirits rose 
on perceiving what a finishing touch a jug 
and basin give to a bedroom, especially when 
placed on the floor. The boys went out with 
a list to buy provisions and insist upon coals 
being delivered that evening, and we pro- 
ceeded to unpack our trunks and discuss the 
situation. 

I was surprised at the thoughtfulness the 
girls had displayed in recollecting to bring 
trifles which would not be missed by Uncle 
Joshua and which were endeared to us by 
useful association. Thus, Belinda, after 
much diving head-foremost in her dress- 
basket, fished up half a dozen silver tea- 
spoons swathed in an old glove and inserted 
in a shoe. 

“You see, Maria,^’ she* said, apologetic- 
ally, “ it looks so bad not to have any silver, 


WE BECOME HOUSEHOLDERS. 


51 

and I left Uncle Joshua the other half-dozen. 
Even if he had a tea-party — which isn’t 
likely — he wouldn’t use more than half a 
dozen.” 

On going into Olivia’s room I found her 
seated on the floor diligently polishing some- 
thing in her hand. By some curious coin- 
cidence it appeared that the idea of tea- 
spoons had also occurred to her. 

I should have brought seven, as one is 
sure to get lost; but I could not find the 
other six. You recollect, Maria, we only 
had a dozen.” 

I explained how it had come about that 
the seventh was missing and went back to Be- 
linda, who on hearing how perversely things 
had fallen out complained resentfully of Oliv- 
ia’s want of confidence. 

‘‘ Six forks now would have come in so 
very conveniently.” 

Compared with this matter of the tea- 
spoons, the dozen sheets and few tablecloths 


52 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

I had stowed in my box sank into insignifi- 
cance. 

Pamela’s one idea had been not to part 
with a certain old blue Delft jar to which she 
was much attached and which now beamed 
familiarly upon us from an uncarpeted floor. 
To prevent its breaking, Mary, who had 
helped us to pack, had filled it with a few lit- 
tle odds and ends that came handy, a small 
carriage-clock, two inkstands, and a pen-tray, 
wrapped up in dusters. When William’s eye 
fell on these familiar objects arranged to 
much advantage on a mantel-shelf, he ob- 
served that it was rough on Joshua, and ap- 
plied such unpleasant adjectives to the mat- 
ter of the tea-spoons that Olivia, conscience- 
stricken, packed up the half-dozen she had 
brought, and posted them to Mary with strict 
instructions that they all six were to be placed 
in the most conspicuous positions on the 
breakfast-table directly they arrived. 

The next morning Belinda asked Olivia, 


WE BECOME HOUSEHOLDERS. 53 

who Still controlled the expenditure, if she 
thought the purchase of an eider-down quilt 
could be fairly called a superfluous extrava- 
gance. Olivia, in reply, pointed out that we 
were in April, and as the summer was com- 
ing on she was afraid it would come under 
that heading; to which Belinda made answer 
that — unless something unusual occurred — 
the summer would inevitably be followed by 
the winter. This Olivia could not deny. 
She was sitting meditating upon the question, 
when Jack came down looking cross. He 
did not say good-morning,” but com- 
menced the day by telling us he hardly felt as 
if he had been to bed at all; there was so little 
difference to his mind between sleeping under 
his clothes and in them. Finally Belinda 
took the law into her own hands and wrote 
to Mary, telling her to bring some blankets 
from The Court and join us at the end of the 
week. If Uncle Joshua — so her letter ran — 
happened to pass as she was packing the 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


54 

blankets, Mary might say he could see for 
himself how necessary it was for them to go 
to the cleaners to have the moth extermi- 
nated; if, however, he happened to be out or 
otherwise engaged, she was not on any ac- 
count to bother him about them. 

A day or two afterward the blankets ar- 
rived alone, with a note pinned on the top- 
most: 

My dear young ladies and Marster Wil- 
liam — You may be s’prised to see blankets 
come without Mary. Marster Uncle Joshua 
came into the kitchen as I was cording the 
box. I told him as how I were sending a few 
boots and things by the young ladies direc- 
tion as Marster William had some idee of 
going suspectin a diamond mine in Canady. 
Marster Joshua made no coment. He says 
as Im not to leave here on no account. I re- 
plide I shood keep to my original promise of 
taking service with the first of the young la- 


WE BECOME HOUSEHOLDERS. 


55 

dies as got married. And which will that be 
Mary says he, I said as how it woodn't be 
becoming in me to mention no names but I 
didn’t suppose as how it wood be Miss Maria, 
Miss Blinda, nor Miss Livia. Marster Uncle 
Joshua has rased my wages and pays me reg- 
lar, things is much changed from what they 
was, and I’m on no account to menshun rise. 

Now dear young ladies hoping this will 
find you better than it leves me having the 
neuralgic cruel from washing in the open, 

I am your obed. 

Mary James. 

P.S. — I have put a cake for Miss Pa- 
mela among the blankets.” 

We felt indignant with Mary. She had 
been basely bought over by Marster Uncle 
Joshua.” Only Pamela smiled dreamily as 
she read the letter a second time, and then 
went upstairs to do her hair in a new fashion. 

William declared it was as well that Mary 


56 BELINDA~AND SOME OTHERS. 

hadn’t come, for the neighbourhood had a 
reputation for propriety and might have ob- 
jected to her ‘‘ washing in the open.” Be- 
linda held that this washing referred to the 
cleansing of dusters, tea-cloths, etc., and 
there was a good deal of argument as to 
whether our late handmaiden had deterio- 
rated. 

‘‘ Not in her cooking at any rate! ” cried 
Olivia between bites of a large piece of the 
cake. 

Belinda Acknowledged the arrival of the 
blankets coldly on a postcard: 

The Misses Chilcott have received blan- 
kets sent by their direction by Mary James.” 

That was all. After the card was posted 
we recollected all the letters went to The 
Court in a locked bag, which would of course 
be opened by Uncle Joshua. We consoled 
ourselves by reflecting that he couldn’t say 
much about the matter, as that would be ad- 


WE BECOME HOUSEHOLDERS. 


57 

mitting he had read another personas post- 
card. 

Olivia’s plan of picking up furniture at 
sales answered very well. There was a large 
sale-room within a stone’s-throw of Triangle 
Lawn, and one or other of us patronised all 
the auctions that took place there at short 
intervals. There was some bitterness as to 
whose were the greatest bargains. On one 
occasion William was much pleased with 
himself that on bidding for a kitchen table it 
was knocked down to him at a few shillings, 
with a knife-grinder and a housemaid’s box 
thrown in.^ Belinda maintained that we re- 
ally extracted more use from the sideboard 
which had been her bargain, though William 
pooh-poohed the sideboard on the score that 
it had been accompanied by a dozen glass 
globes which could not by any persuasion be 
made to fit any burner in the house. 

Jack, nervous of infection, bought a tin 
of Sanitas powder and well peppered the bar- 


58 


BELINDA—AND SOME OTHERS. 


gains as they were brought into the house. 
Jinks took this as personal, and sulked for 
some days. It is not to be denied that to a 
dog of fine feelings but limited comprehen- 
sion, between Keating’s Insect Powder and 
Sanitas, a mere disinfectant, there may be a 
distinction but no obvious difference. 

When we bought anything which on 
more mature consideration did not seem 
worth its money, or refused to adjust itself to 
the place where it was required to go, we 
simply returned it to the sale-room, request- 
ing the broker to put it in the next sale and 
credit us with the amount fetched. 

Belinda grew quite friendly with the auc- 
tioneer. She explained to him that he did 
not give her time to change her mind. After 
this, when she made a bid, he paused before 
bringing down the hammer, to see if she 
would retract. 

It was kind of him, and as she generally 
did not wish to retract, the plan answered 


WE BECOME HOUSEHOLDERS. 


59 

admirably, till one day he paused too long, 
and someone bid considerably higher than 
Belinda, who thus lost an armchair she was 
particularly desirous of possessing. 

As a result of furnishing chiefly from 
sales, we had nine coal-scuttles, five knife- 
boards, and six butlers’ trays. We did not 
want them exactly — they just happened to 
be comprised in lots which contained some- 
thing we really required. Sales are a cheap 
Way of getting a superfluity of one article. 

At the curio shops we were not so fortu- 
nate. The bric-a-brac and old oak which we 
had heard were to be had for a mere song 
were conspicuous by their absence. 

“ The song,” sighed Belinda, “ has evi- 
dently been sung before our day.” 

The Barlock came in useful at this junc- 
ture. 

Olivia went daily to the Free Library 
with pencil and note-book, and copied any 
advertisements from the papers which prom- 


6o 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


ised employment and replied to them on the 
typewriter, signing the letters with the name 
of the one she considered best fitted to fill 
the needed requirements. 

One day she came back full of hope for 
Jack. In the Daily News she had met with 
a request for a young gentleman of energy 
and talent to develop an artistic undertak- 
ing. The reply to her letter was not quite 
what we expected. The artistic undertak- 
ing that needed development was a com- 
pany to float a new enamel on the market. 
To prove how bona fide was this undertak- 
ing, the Company sent a sample box of 
twelve small pots of enamel and a dozen 
brushes. 

Jack on reading the paper sighed and 
exclaimed, ‘‘ Ars longa vita brevis and 
walked majestically from the room. 

Pamela requested William to explain the 
phrase Jack had quoted, but William, whose 
educational plan had not embraced Latin, 


WE BECOME HOUSEHOLDERS. 6l 

could only hazard that Art was long-suffer- 
ing. 

Olivia reproved this free translation. 

No, no, William,’’ she said, it means 
^ Art is long. Vice is short.’ ” 

Pamela was still dissatisfied; she followed 
Jack to his painting-room, and returned tri- 
umphant. 

‘‘ It means,” she cried, ' Art is long, but 
not wide enough to take in enamel! ’ ” 

Then Olivia said: 

I told you so! ” 

Belinda, who was never satisfied, wished 
the Company had sent more of one colour, 
as she could then have enamelled each of 
the drawing chairs the same shade. 

After this, William took to writing his 
own business letters, with the result that he 
obtained a clerkship to a member of the 
Stock Exchange, at a salary of twenty-five 
shillings a week. 

One morning the charwoman sent round 


62 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


to say she could not come for a few days, 
owing to an outbreak of measles in her fam- 
ily. Olivia, on her way to the Library, 
promised to call in at a registry-office and 
make inquiries after a general.’’ I did the 
cooking. * 

That evening Olivia startled us all by sud- 
denly declaring she was disappointed in Lon- 
don. 

It gives me a vague yearning,” she ex- 
plained pathetically. I feel as if I wanted 
something, but don’t quite know what.” 

William broke the awed silence which fol- 
lowed this outburst: 

I’ve had that feeling myself, though it 
was in the country, and if my memory serves 
me, it was on a day when Maria had done the 
cooking.” 

I felt glad that Jack had always been my 
favourite brother, and mentioned the fact 
aloud. 

Pamela picked up her guitar and began 


WE BECOME HOUSEHOLDERS. 63 

to sing, under the impression that it would 
restore the general harmony of the evenings 
but Jack begged her to desist. 

Your voice, my dear girl, trickles about 
my back and runs out of the holes in my 
socks.’’ 

'' Brothers are ” protested Pamela, 

fretfully. 

Yes,” rejoined William, as you say, 
^ brothers are ’ is the plural to ^ Belinda is.’ ” 

I’m not began Pamela, when she 

was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. 
Olivia ran to open it. 

^^Why, it’s Mary!” she cried. 

Mary it was. She had been so exercised 
in her feelings by Belinda’s postcard, that 
she had deluded Master Uncle Joshua 
into believing in the sickness of an imaginary 
mother. 

Though I be an orphan, as Master Wil- 
liam knows,” concluded Mary. 

This did not infer that William had any 


64 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

complicity in the death of her parents; but 
simply that he was acquainted with the fact 
that they were no more. We explained to 
Mary how the charwoman had left us strand- 
ed, whereupon she remarked that, as far as 
she was concerned, the charwoman could 
-stay with the measles and welcome; for, 
judging by the appearance of things in gen- 
eral, she wasn’t much of a muchness. 

Not a word would Mary say concerning 
Uncle Joshua. To all our queries she an- 
swered that things were much as they were 
excepting where they had altered, that she 
had been so homesick for Miss Pamela ” 
she could not stay away from her any longer. 

The box ottoman, which had been my 
bargain, now came in useful as an additional 
bed. Under Mary’s hearty admiration of 
our furnishing, our spirits, latterly a trifle de- 
pressed, rose to their usual high level. But 
we could not persuade her to give a definite 
opinion as to whether William or Belinda 


WE BECOME HOUSEHOLDERS. 65 

had most contributed to the utility of the 
establishment. 

To William she said: “Miss Bdinda was 
always fond of a little show, not but what a 
sideboard comes in ’andy in a dining-room.’^ 
And to Belinda she said: “How should 
a young gentleman of Master William’s edu- 
cation be ’spected to know as a ’ousemaid as 
is a ’ousemaid can get along without a box! ” 


CHAPTER IV. 


CONCERNING ART AND LITERATURE. 

When Belinda had several sheets of fash- 
ion-drawings ready she intimated her inten- 
tion of taking them round to show the editors 
of some dozen papers. 

We wondered whence she gathered her 
ideas on dress, for the inhabitants of Brick 
Park admirably fulfilled what some have laid 
down as a test of a well-dressed woman — that 
on beholding her once, you do not feel con- 
strained to look again. I had a notion that 
the Smith’s boy at the station bookstall 
could have enlightened us, for Belinda spent 
many half-hours conversing with him whilst 
she turned over the fashion numbers in 
search of ideas, and occasionally — very oc- 
casionally — bought a copy of Woman. 

66 


CONCERNING ART AND LITERATURE. 6/ 

The first week, in going the round of 
Fleet Street and its environs, Belinda spent 
ten shillings in ’bus and train fares, and sold 
one drawing, for which she received five. 
She wore her oldest garments, wishing to 
keep a new cape she had contrived out of 
the pink shot inside of an old mackintosh for 
more pleasurable occasions, until one fine 
June day, vanity overcoming economy, she 
sallied forth arrayed in everything smart of 
her own, with the addition of what she could 
borrow. On returning from town, she hint- 
ed casually that in future she should always 
wear her best clothes when occupied with 
the disposal of her sketches. Even so short 
an experience had taught her that in Lon- 
don if you look dowdy people treat you 
with respect, but evince little or no interest 
in your career; whereas a smart appearance 
meets with a certain measure of success, 
though, apparently, it also entails some 
doubts as to respectability. 


68 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


Having only thirty-three pounds six and 
eightpence annually she could call her own, 
and a promised share in William’s future 
prosperity, was it not absolutely necessary to 
look over the fact that editors, and especially 
sub-editors, fancied she called on them less 
to dispose of her wares than to have a little 
genial conversation? After some few re- 
buffs, notwithstanding that she invariably ♦ 
represented each office she entered as being 
the one that edited the only paper for which 
she would care to work — the only paper, in 
fact, that was all a paper should be — she fell 
in with a new organ, whose editor engaged 
her to illustrate the column devoted to the 
latest style in underclothing, which he deli- 
cately termed lingerie. 

It had not been exactly Belinda’s ambi- 
tion to sit up to late hours of the night re- 
producing the newest things in camisoles, but 
she was always one of those who find it easier 
to cut according. to their cloth than try to 


CONCERNING ART AND LITERATURE. 69 

obtain a wider material. Her method of 
procedure was to go, by editorial direction, 
to certain fashionable shops and sketch their 
novelties. From that date Belinda never had 
to buy any gloves, stockings, or fans. Pa- 
mela openly wished she had taken up fashion- 
drawing; but Jack was heard to murmur 
something about bribery and corruption, un- 
heeding our assurance that other arts beside 
the culinary one had their perquisites.’’ 

Jack’s ideas did not adapt themselves so 
readily to circumstances as Belinda’s. For 
some weeks he wore out boot-leather and his 
temper in equal proportions carrying round 
sketches of ancient cathedrals and ruined 
castles, when one day by mistake he included 
in his portfolio a little pen-and-ink drawing 
he had made from life, on an evening when 
Mary had come up suddenly to the painting- 
room where we were sitting to say a ‘‘ gentle- 
man had called to see Miss Belinda.” The 
vsketch represented Belinda grasping a pair 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


70 

of black satin cycling knickerbockers, of the 
latest mode, and expostulating with the 
‘‘ gentleman,'’ who had come down from a 
fashionable ladies' tailor to say that the sup- 
ply could not keep pace with the demand, 
and that the pair carried off by Miss Chilcott 
for sketching purposes were urgently needed, 
so greatly had they taken the popular taste. 

An editor chanced upon this drawing and 
was much struck with its humorous simplici- 
ty; he had a joke pigeon-holed which would 
suit it exactly, it was topical and had that 
slight suspicion of vulgarity without which 
the wit of the day is unpalatable to the mul- 
titude and only fit for Punch. Would Jack 
send him similar sketches? If so, there 
should be a corner kept every week for his 
work, or as often as he could send it. 

Belinda urged Jack to take this opening. 

Beggars, dear boy," she said, must 
never be choosers. I have watched the evo- 
lution of that paper with interest — it began, 


CONCERNING ART AND LITERATURE. 71 

you remember, with the gaiters of the 
Church, it is now chiefly devoted to the legs 
of the ballet.” 

William added his shred of information. 
He had heard that the shares — for the paper 
was run by a company — had gone up from 
two and a half to five. Regarding legs from 
a financial point of view, he had found it in- 
teresting to note what a difference mere gen- 
der made in their value as an investment. 
Jack’s dislike to using his pencil in the cause 
of popular vulgarity being thus overruled, he 
began to get on better. His editor was 
somewhat erratic in the matter of payments: 
when self-respect at intervals demanded dis- 
continuance of contributions until a cheque 
arrived. Jack turned the time thus gained to 
account by studying Posters, which drew 
from William the observation that Art re- 
minded him of a certain place of entertain- 
ment much advertised under the heading — 

“ All roads lead to Earl’s Court.” 


72 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


It was unfortunate for Belinda that, just 
as she was entering into the spirit of her 
work, the puppies should all fall ill of the 
mange. Her editor wrote reproachfully to 
say her drawings had not arrived that week 
until after the paper had gone to press. In 
return she confided with a pretty apology the 
distressing sickness of her canine friends, but 
when the same tardiness occurred the follow- 
ing week the editor wrote again more per- 
emptorily. He was sorry the puppies had 
the mange; but fashions changed so rapidly 
that if the page devoted to lingerie was a week 
behind, it gave the whole paper the air of be- 
ing a back number. He inferred facetiously 
that as long as Miss Chilcott’s drawings were 
up to time, the puppies might go to the dogs. 

Belinda tore up this letter, much to the 
chagrin of Olivia, who suspected an auto- 
graph in every communication. 

Only one of the puppies died. Its mis- 
tress wished to have it buried in the garden. 


CONCERNING ART AND LITERATURE. 73 

but on this point I was firm. Had it only 
been a flower garden I should not have mind- 
ed; but tomatoes, onions, and the where- 
withal to make salad grew beneath the shade 
of hollyhocks and nasturtiums. We referred 
the matter in dispute to William the night 
the puppy died. He decided that a sixth 
portion of the garden was rightly under the 
tenancy of Belinda; if she chose to use it as a 
cemetery, she of course could. For his own 
part, he had been vexed when the landlord 
mentioned that our predecessor in the house 
had been very partial to animals and also un- 
fortunate in losing several. 

To the loss of his live stock,^’ comment- 
ed William in conclusion, I attribute wholly 
and solely the fact that the vegetable-marrow 
I planted in the farthest corner of the garden 
shows unmistakable signs of growing into 
the dining-room.’’ 

Before this discussion we had freely in- 
dulged a forgivable weakness for marrows, 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


74 

but after it they would have gone to seed had 
not Mary devised a plan for exchanging them 
for potatoes with the owner of a vegetable 
cart when he called for orders. 

Olivia’s good memory put an end to the 
perplexity concerning the puppy’s burial- 
place. She recalled having read a descrip- 
tion of a spot in London where dogs may be 
decently buried and their bones let lie in 
peace, and succeeded in getting the maga- 
zine in which the article had appeared, for us 
to read further particulars. The dogs’ ceme- 
tery turned out to be, of all places in the 
world, in Hyde Park, a lodge-keeper’s garden 
being appropriated for this humane purpose. 
Belinda herself went to choose the exact site 
of the grave, and ascertained that the funeral 
could take place on the morrow. We spent 
the evening in considering a suitable epitaph 
to be engraved on the puppy’s tombstone. 
William was anxious to know how we intend- 
ed to get the body to the cemetery — were we 


CONCERNING ART AND LITERATURE. 75 

going to send it by Carter Paterson & Co., 
or how? He hoped he was not officious in 
reminding us that the Post-Office regulations 
relating to dead cats applied equally to dead 
dogs. 

Given time for consideration, it was al- 
ways possible to forecast what William would 
say on any subject; but though his remarks 
were obvious to a degree, indeed he was a 
sympathetic and unselfish lad. That even- 
ing he stayed up late to construct a coffin out 
of a Sunlight soap-box, in which he laid the 
puppy, nailing it down and covering it with a 
bit of green baize, and addressing it neatly 
to Belinda. Pamela grieved that no flowers 
had been placed on the poor little puppy, and 
would have opened the coffin to repair this 
omission had we allowed her. 

At ten in the morning we started for the 

funeral, Mary coming as far as the station, 

and handing the baize-covered box into the 

carriage in respectful silence. The coffin be- 
6 


76 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

ing rather heavy as well as noticeable, on 
alighting at the Queen's Road station, Be- 
linda as chief mourner stepped into a han- 
som. Olivia, Pamela, and I followed in an 
omnibus. At Victoria Gate we got out, to 
find Belinda standing on the kerb beside the 
remains, looking rather flustered. It ap- 
peared the hansom driver had been annoyed 
on discovering her destination, and had said, 
in tones more loud than polite, had he 
guessed she was making a bloomin' 'earse 
of 'is keb," he would have refused to drive 
her. 

And I gave him an extra sixpence, too, 
in case it was illegal to drive a dead dog," 
concluded his fare wrathfully. 

When the ceremony was over and the 
puppy laid to sleep among the never-ceasing 
rumble of London traffic, far, far from the 
country home where his short days had been 
mostly spent, we called at a monumental 
mason to order the tombstone. Whilst Be- 


CONCERNING ART AND LITERATURE. 77 

linda discussed details of stone and shape 
with the mason, Olivia somewhat spitefully 
drew our attention to the fact that Belinda 
could not forget herself even on a tomb- 
stone; 

She’s getting in her own name on it as 
well as the puppy's.” 

When we got back, Mary informed us 
laconically that The Church had called ” 
during our absence. A card, inscribed ‘‘ The 
Rev. Theophilus Kittiwake, The Vicarage, 
Brick Park, S.W.,” lay on the hall table, also 
bearing testimony to our first visitor. 

I told the gentleman,” continued Mary, 
that you young ladies wasn’t in, that you 
had gone to a funeral; and ’twasn’t no use 
my going upstairs to tell Master Jack, as he’d 
be sure to say as he wasn’t at home.” 

We regretted having been out. Olivia 
was able to describe Mr. Kittiwake in appear- 
ance, as she had noticed him going to and 
fro in the parish. 


78 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

‘‘ He is tall and dark, with brown curly 
hair, rather handsome, but walks badly.’^ 

I looked at the card several times. Kitti- 
wake was not a name one would choose to 
carry one through life; still, I did not entire- 
ly agree with the others, who declared it re- 
minded them of a missing word competition. 

About this time Pamela, having met with 
no success in her endeavours to teach draw- 
ing only in a private family, decided to go 
on the Stage. 

She ordered the Era to come in with the 
Church Times. It was the latter paper which 
influenced Olivia's career. One week, sand- 
wiched in between the details of twelve sur- 
plices to be sold for the benefit of a new or- 
gan fund, and the offer of a ‘‘ warm, com- 
fortable home at reduced terms " to any 
elderly gentleman whose accomplishments 
included carving, she saw an advertisement 
which promised to fling open the gates of 
Bohemia. 


CONCERNING ART AND LITERATURE. 75 

It emanated from an author who required 
a young lady secretary about twenty-two, 
knowledge of typing essential, her own type- 
writer a recommendation. She must be of 
good appearance, and able to correct proofs 
carefully. Intending applicants were re- 
quested in the first instance to write to ad- 
dress given, when a personal interview miglTt 
be arranged. The fact that the author had 
inserted the word “ married ” in brackets 
after stating his profession, coupled with the 
announcement appearing in the Church 
Times, made us doubt his atmosphere being 
as purely Bohemian as one could have 
wished. 

Olivia, replying to this advertisement, en- 
larged upon the fact that her typewriter was 
her own. 

“ I need not say I got it second-hand,” 
she exclaimed, as with shining eyes she sat 
nibbling her pen trying to recall points in her 
own favour. “ Neither shall I mention my 


8o 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


exact age. If I put I shall be twenty soon, 
that will look better than saying Fm only 
eighteen.” 

With regard to her personal appearance, 
she modestly left the author to judge for him- 
self from the photograph she enclosed, only 
remarking she had altered considerably — 
a"*necessary statement, seeing that the photo 
was not her own, which she had mislaid, but 
Pamela’s. 

The author answered by return of post, 
appointing a personal interview at his house, 
but a few miles distant. When Pamela, 
looking over her sister’s shoulder, saw that 
the letter was not signed '' Walter Besant ” 
her interest died down suddenly. 

The author had thoughtfully sent a print- 
ed slip containing the names and publishers 
of his books, to help in identifying him. 
This enabled Olivia to obtain one or two 
and read them; she also looked him up in 
Whcfs Who, which shed a light on his Univer- 


CONCERNING ART AND LITERATURE, gi 

sity and literary career. She deduced — 
chiefly from the titles of his works — that he 
was a poet as well as a prose writer, and her 
interest redoubled, and we spoke of him from 
that day, when we spent a whole afternoon 
admiring his signature^ — a particularly bold 
one — as The Poet.” 

When later on in the week Olivia re- 
turned from the personal interview, we were 
intensely interested to hear what had passed. 
The Poet, we learnt, was not of the Byronic 
type; he had a genial, even cheerful manner, 
and was handsome in an erect, white-mous- 
tachioed, soldierly way. Altogether he ap- 
peared to be one of the exceeding few who 
see their own surroundings through rose-col- 
oured glasses. 

‘‘ Pm not quite clear,” continued Olivia, 
what the secretary’s duties are; but they 
seem to include generally enjoying Bohemia. 
He showed much sympathy on hearing I 
contributed to the Animal Worlds though it 


82 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


is not a paper he has himself worked for. I 
was just going to ask him upon what book 
he is now engaged, when the tea came in and 
he pressed me to take some bread and butter. 
I only blushed five times — not bad, was it? ” 

Five blushes in a quarter of an hour was 
moderate for Olivia. 

The Poet had had about two hundred ap- 
plications, but promised to think over Olivia 
and let her know the result. 

The result was a summons to take up her 
residence in Bohemia, and not on any ac- 
count to forget the typewriter. 

He seems to think it’s of as much im- 
portance as I am!” cried the owner of the 
machine, vexedly. 

With Belinda’s help she made some pretty 
additions to her wardrobe and bought her- 
self a pair of spectacles — not that she required 
them, but considered them essential to a liter- 
ary appearance — and thus equipped set sail 
for that happy land, Bohemia. 


CHAPTER V. 


CONCERNING A FIRST ACQUAINTANCE. 

Some time after the events to be here re- 
lated, I explained to the Rev. Theophilus Kit- 
tiwake that if on the occasion of his first paro- 
chial call he went away under the impression 
that William was a member of the Stock Ex- 
change, that Jack was painting a picture for 
next year’s Academy, and Olivia away on a 
visit of pleasure, it was not due to my share 
in the conversation. 

And the Vicar, with that wide charity for 
which he was remarkable, said: “ Belinda is 
just a trifle inaccurate.” 

The grin which accompanied these words 
was nearly as wide as the charity. 

We had just come in from seeing Olivia 

83 


84 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

off by train to Bohemia. The realisation of 
her dreams took off the keen edge of parting, 
and if there was a tear in her eye it arose more 
from having attracted a wandering particle 
of coal-dust, than sorrowing affection. But 
we were commenting a trifle dolefully on the 
first break in our circle, when the Vicar was 
shown in. I observed a tall man, with brown 
crinkly hair, dark eyes, and a sympathetic 
manner. Belinda noticed that he wore his 
nose a trifle to one side and used his soft hat 
to punctuate his conversation. 

I was unfortunate in finding you out on 
my first call. Your servant said you had 
gone to a funeral. I hope ’’ (here his eye 
roved from my pink blouse to the blue ribbon 
of Belinda’s hat) that as you are not in 
mourning you have not lost any near rela- 
tive? ” 

'' No — no relation — a friend only,” mur- 
mured Belinda, absently. '' Died of the 
mange.” 


CONCERNING A FIRST ACQUAINTANCE, gj 

'' Well, hardly a friend,” I hastened to 
explain; that is — a puppy; we buried him 
in Hyde Park.” 

The dog is the friend of man,” respond- 
ed the Vicar genially. 

After he had gone, Belinda said his con- 
versation reminded her of last year’s fash- 
ions. 

Belinda poured out tea, and beamed be- 
hind the tea-cosy. She had a way of smiling 
at the end of her sentences that made stran- 
gers feel as if she had confided something to 
them of first-class importance. 

‘‘ Maria and I,” she observed, passing him 
a cup with the grace of a complete under- 
standing, never take milk or sugar in our 
tea.” 

Then she smiled, and Mr." Kittiwake said 
Indeed! ” and felt as if he had known her 
for years, perhaps christened her. 

Aware that my sister never did anything 
without a motive, I meekly accepted my tea 


86 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


brown and bitter, though I liked sugar and 
cream better than most people. Presently 
the motive became apparent, when the Vicar 
refusing a second cup, Belinda poured what 
remained of the cream — there had only been 
a few spoonfuls, the milkman having unac- 
countably forgotten us— and added liberally 
of sugar. Though so good at adapting her- 
self to circumstances, Belinda invariably for- 
got to carry them through consistently. 

A little general and parochial discussion 
followed, and then the Vicar mentioned there 
was a pew in his church vacant; if we liked 
to secure it, its rent was two guineas. It was 
the only one likely to be available for some 
time; he regretted it was situated somewhat 
low down in the church, in a draughty posi- 
tion. Belinda intimated that she took cold 
easily, and the matter ended by our accepting 
the loan of the Vicarage pew — gratis — until 
one out of the way of draughts became 
vacant. William, when we notified this ar- 


CONCERNING A FIRST ACQUAINTANCE. 87 

rangement, found fault with the usual selfish- 
ness of women. 

How/’ he demanded, am I, right 
under the pulpit, to get the forty winks to 
which I am accustomed during the sermon? ” 
Your doze, William,” replied I, “ when 
weighed in the balance against two pounds 
pew-rent, proves you a very light sleeper.” 

Having settled about the pew, the Vicar 
went on to tell us there was to be a tea given 
in the Parish school-room, a sort of anniver- 
sary ceremony to celebrate his having been 
a year in the parish. He hoped we should 
find time to come to it. The churchwardens 
had insisted upon his taking the opportunity 
thus afforded for mentioning a certain defi- 
ciency in the offertory for Church expenses. 

‘‘Would you advise me,” he asked, look- 
ing much perplexed, “ to mention this before 
the tea or after? ” 

I suggested after. “ It would be a pity 
to spoil people’s appetites.” 


88 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


Belinda considered parish appetites not 
easily daunted, and that to mention it after- 
ward might give them indigestion. 

‘‘I much prefer making these announce- 
ments from the pulpit,’’ sighed the Vicar. 

Where there’s no likelihood of your 
being contradicted,” we agreed sympathetic- 
ally. 

Then the talk turned upon a Jumble ” 
Sale to take place on the following Thursday. 
Belinda was much interested in hearing how 
^ it was managed, and begged to be allowed 
to send a few contributions. 

‘‘ Things do accumulate so — don’t they? ” 
she remarked, forgetting we had only been 
in the house a month or so. 

For a first call,” said I, looking at the 
clock, an hour and a half is not a bad allow- 
ance.” 

Belinda stood near the window watching 
the Vicar stride across the green to the Vic- 
arage. 


CONCERNING A FIRST ACQUAINTANCE. 89 

He's weak about the knees, that's what 
makes him walk so badly. I noticed that 
though he talked most to me, he looked a 
good deal at you, Maria." 

We consulted Mary as to what we could 
spare for the Jumble " Sale. She hinted 
that the gas globes which had accompanied 
the sideboard were not needed. 

And a different butler's tray for every 
day of the week being what Miss 'Livia calls 
an extravagant possibility, you might send at 
least three of them. Miss Maria." 

So without giving away anything we 
should have missed, we had more space and 
convenience in the house after our donations 
for the good of the parish. The Vicar told 
me afterward — when there was no longer any 
need to live up to strained notions of polite- 
ness — that he concluded we had bought up 
an entire ‘‘ Jumble " Sale from somewhere to 
furnish with. 

My artistic tendencies, which had hitherto 


go BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

found outlet in useful but plain sewing, sud- 
denly developed in the direction of ecclesiasti- 
cal embroidery. Belinda, not to be outdone 
in her esteem for the Vicar, presented hin^. 
with two of the puppies and offered the third 
to be raffled at a forthcoming bazaar. In- 
deed, I sometimes considered that she took 
too warm an interest in church matters. One 
evening,, for instance, when brushing her hair, 
always a credit to the amount of attention 
she paid it, she confided how she had — 
anonymously — sent a P.O, for half-a-crown 
toward the deficiency in the offertory for 
church expenses. This deficiency, though it 
fluctuated in amount, was chronic in sub- 
stance. That week it must have reached its 
high-water mark, for the day before, after 
evening service, I had slipped a florin into 
the box dedicated to contributions just inside 
the church door. It was not necessary to 
tell Belinda this, indeed I reproved her se- 
verely. 


CONCERNING A FIRST ACQUAINTANCE. 

“ Charity should begin at home — even in 
these days of cheap travelling.” 

Belinda, combing her hair over her face 
and peering through it until Jinks, allowed 
to watch the operation, mistook her for his 
first cousin, retorted that she had not under- 
stood the violet stole I was working was for 
home decoration. 

“ I suppose, Maria, you intend it for a 
mantle-border.” 

There was no reasoning with Belinda. 

As the summer grew on. Uncle Joshua 
conceived the useful idea of sending us a 
weekly hamper. It was kind of him. Some- 
times we wrote and told him so, sometimes 
we forgot even to acknowledge it. Once I 
remember we had reason to point out that it 
might have been better packed. 

“We have not ” — so ran our letter — 
“ yet been able to determine whether the 

contents of last week’s hamper were fruit 
7 


BELINDA—AND SOME OTHERS. 


92 

or jam, it came in so mashed a condi- 
tion.” 

Uncle wrote apologetically in reply, say- 
ing he had packed it himself, the gardener 
being busy. We interrogated Mary as to 
whether a gardener had been installed at The 
Court before her departure. 

She said: ‘'I believe. Miss, as there was 
a person as called himself such, but I didnT 
take no great heed to him.” 

Uncle’s ideas on hampers, though mainly 
composed of fruit and vegetables, included 
filling the corners up with packets of tea, 
sugar, and coffee, and at the bottom more 
often than not we discovered a ham of ex- 
cellent flavour. Once only he mentioned 
Mary; as some weeks had elapsed since her 
departure to nurse her mother, he supposed 
there were some wages due to her: she had 
left intending to return. He enclosed the 
cheque, trusting that we knew her address 
and would forward it. The cheque was for 


CONCERNING A FIRST ACQUAINTANCE. 93 

five pounds, which put Mary’s wages at about 
twenty-five pounds a year. We asked her if 
she honestly considered herself worth that 
sum, and agreed to abide by her deci- 
sion. After meditating silently upon her 
own value, she suggested that as “ Master 
William ” got up early to clean the win- 
dows, and laid the supper on “ her night 
out,” the sum should be divided between 
them. 

When we handed the half to William he 
remarked that it was the very first time in hiS 
life he had not found virtue to be its own — 
and only — reward, and modestly questioned 
whether he had a right to spend it entirely as 
he desired. We assured him he had, and he 
went out there and then and purchased a 
lawn mower, explaining in extenuation of his 
purchase that — 

“ You would hardly believe the time it 
takes getting round the lawn, small as it is, 
with only Maria’s scissors.” 


94 


BELIMDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


Jack did not approve of Pamela's plan of 
going on the Stage. He would put his foot 
down on it. 

“ Seeing that you take a nine," said Be- 
linda, your method. Jack, should be effect- 
ive." 

Pamela did not care what Jack thought. 
William was her favourite brother: every 
night, when not too sleepy, did he not read 
out Romeo, while she repeated Juliet from 
memory? I had wondered somewhat at 
William's quiet acceptance of Pamela's idea 
of going on the Stage, knowing that broth- 
ers' admiration of actresses does not as a rule 
extend to histrionic talent in their own fami- 
lies. He explained his attitude when Pamela 
was absent from the room. 

Nothing in the world cools one's ardour 
for an undertaking like encouragement: why, 
I should have taken more prizes at school 
if the masters had had the sense to oppose 


me. 


CONCERNING A FIRST ACQUAINTANCE, gj 

Then he went on diffidently to tell us 
how he had latterly met a few actresses purely 
in the course of business. At that moment 
Pamela entered the room and inquired anx- 
iously how actresses looked, off the Stage. 

'' Not as well as they look on,’’ replied 
William. You see, Pamela, their complex- 
ions, however good to start with, get so to- 
tally ruined by the paint and powder they 
have to use, you know.” 

Pamela grew pensive, and William con- 
tinued smiling at his own diplomacy, until 
Jack ruffied him by remarking that the ac- 
tresses he was acquainted with — if he did 
know any — might perhaps exchange their 
stockings; but he. Jack, doubted them hav- 
ing much to do on the Stock Exchange. 
The humour of this observation not striking 
William, he replied rudely, and a short quar- 
rel ensued. Belinda and I listened attentive- 
ly. If it had not been for the boys now and 
again falling out, there were lots of little mat- 


q6 BELINDA— and SOME OTHERS. 

ters we should never have known anything 
about. 

Olivia came to see us the following Sun- 
day afternoon. She arrived about three 
o’clock, looking a little dejected, as one 
might whose lot was made up of peculiarly 
trying circumstances. 

‘‘ Bohemia,” remarked Belinda interrog- 
atively, ‘‘ does not seem to agree with 
you? ” 

Olivia burst into tears. 

Jack, whose experience of hysterics and 
their treatment was derived entirely from 
novels, ran for some water. He took what 
came first. That it happened to be his tum- 
bler of painting water did not warrant un- 
charitable judgment. A long acquaintance 
with Jack taught us always to put in his 
motives as backgrounds to results, often 
curious. 

Olivia drank a little, and refrained from 
mentioning the flavour of indigo. 


CONCERNING A FIRST ACQUAINTANCE. 97 

“ It’s all SO different,” she sobbed, “ from 
what I expected.” 

“ By-the-by, what did you expect? ” in- 
quired Belinda, who had found the day long, 
and thought we might begin at the begin- 
ning. 

Olivia didn’t know. 

“ Then,” rejoined William, “ how can you 
be disappointed? ” 

“ Silly! ” exclaimed Pamela, presumably 
addressing the last speaker. “ If she knew 
what to expect how could she be disap- 
pointed? ” 

Olivia mopped her eyes and continued 
vaguely: 

“ It’s all so — so — too ” 

“ Clean? ” hazarded Belinda. 

“ The Poet’s not a poet at all,” sobbed the 
disappointed one. “ He writes for the news- 
papers — commonplace, everyday newspapers 
— and the work he’s engaged upon is a Blue 
Book.” 


98 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


‘‘ Well, if Art is long,” observed William, 
Literature seems to be broad in propor- 
tion.” 

His wife is not a bit artistic,” wept Oliv- 
ia; ‘‘ she gets her gowns straight from Paris, 
and goes calling on a bicycle.” 

Belinda looked interested. 

There may be compensations,” she re- 
marked, soothingly. 

But Olivia didn’t think so. 

‘‘ He has such peculiar ideas, he takes a 
great interest in foreign politics, and says 
Dickens is overrated. Then, he keeps a 
notebook m his pocket, and puts down every 
silly thing that’s said at table.” 

Why, you must be afraid to speak!” 
cried Jack. 

This speech, as we afterward pointed out 
to him, was not calculated to soothe his sis- 
ter’s feelings. She began to cry again, and 
Pamela wept for company. 

Altogether it was a damp afternoon. 


CONCERNING A FIRST ACQUAINTANCE, gg 

Oh, don’t go on the Stage, Pamela dar- 
ling! ” exclaimed Olivia bitterly. “ It won’t 
be a bit like what you think it! ” 

There was perhaps more truth in this 
statement than the speaker was aware of. 

The only point on which the Poet seemed 
an orthodox Bohemian was his objection 
to being spring-cleaned. This operation had 
lately happened and left him irritable. 

‘‘ Why, I knew there was something we 
had forgotten,” cried I ; of course, we never 
had a spring-cleaning.” 

Regarding life from a Bohemian point 
of view,” said William, it seems to me 
there’s no place like home.” 

Under the influence of a cup of tea and 
some strawberries from Uncle’s last ham- 
per, Olivia admitted there were compensa- 
tions. 

When I can’t make out my own writing, 
which as you know sometimes happens, he 
(the Poet) doesn’t mind me asking him if he 


lOO 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


knows what he meant, and he says I may use 
his stamps/^ 

‘‘There, Jack!’’ cried Belinda, “didn’t I 
tell you all professions have their perqui- 
sites? ” 

Jack wondered — aloud, as his way was — 
if the Poet knew what he had let himself in 
ipr when he gave Olivia permission to use 
his stamps. But Olivia contemplated a col- 
lapse of all her literary efforts. 

“ I sha’n’t have any time to write for my- 
self. He seems to think I’m only there to 
be at his beck and call,” she added bitterly. 

“ Which, seeing he pays you to be his 
secretary, is of course absurd,” commented 
William sympathetically. 

We considered Olivia had been deceived. 
She had asked for the bread of poesy and re- 
ceived the stone of journalism. What if the 
Poet’s political leaders were so worded that 
they almost convinced the Opposition? They 
only came out in papers — everyday news- 


CONCERNING A FIRST ACQUAINTANCE, iqi 

papers like the one that came in with the milk 
every morning, and which we should never 
have ordered had not Belinda argued that 
the Smiths’ boy would think it so funny if we 
didn’t take in a daily! 

I wondered sometimes whether other 
people noticed a peculiarity of Olivia’s. She 
would suddenly make a remark totally irrele- 
vant to the subject in hand. That Sunday 
evening, as she put on her hat to return to — 
what there was of Bohemia — she said: 

“ I wish I had never read Trilby! ” 

William, too, would talk a jargon we did 
not understand. He flung himself down in 
a chair, remarking: 

“ Well, there’s been a slump in Olivia’s 
ideals.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

UNCLE Joshua’s visit. 

Uncle Joshua invited himself to stay 
with us. He had a few little business trifles 
to attend to in town, could we put him up 
for a few days? His letter reminded us that 
we should have asked him to come before: 
but it was too late to apologise, so we merely 
said how delighted we should be to see him; 
would he come as soon as he liked, and stay 
a week, not a few days? 

If we each take the responsibility of him 
for a day,” remarked Belinda, he will not 
be such a very great nuisance.” 

We explained this arrangement to Uncle 
on the Monday night of his arrival. 

^‘To-morrow you’re mine,” I said; 

102 


UNCLE JOSHUA’S VISIT. 


103 


“Wednesday, Belinda’s; Thursday, Jack’s; 
Friday, Pamela’s; and on Saturday William 
will devote his half-holiday to your amuse- 
ment, and on Sunday doubtless Olivia will 
grumble for your benefit.” 

Uncle expressed himself delighted at our 
thoughtfulness. 

“ In case I should forget,” he observed, 
“ will you remind me each morning to whom 
I belong? ” 

We put him in the room vacant by Oliv- 
ia’s departure. 

“ Don’t get up till you’re called. Uncle, 
because William, having to catch the early 
train, must have his bath first, and it takes 
some time for the water to heat again.” 

“ Oh, of course William must be consid- 
ered first,” agreed Uncle, and closed his door. 

“ He’s not half a bad little sort,” said Be- 
linda meditatively, “ but I quite understand 
how he came to lose his money.” 

Uncle was easily pleased. As I was busy 


104 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


about the house, he spent the whole of the 
next morning wandering from room to room 
looking at the furniture, and asking how 
much it cost. Belinda, who was drawing in 
the dining-room, found his presence some- 
what disturbing. 

Oh, don’t fidget so! ” she cried. It’s 
Maria’s day, and she seems to be neglecting 
you.” 

In the afternoon I gave him a bicycle les- 
son on William’s machine. He fell off a 
good many times, but I encouraged him to 
persevere. 

‘‘ Just think how useful it would be to 
you in the country. ’Tis not as if you were 
a rich man and could afford horses.” 

Toward evening William suggested that 
Uncle should do some gardening. 

There’s nothing like using your arms to 
take the stiffness out of your legs — and you 
must be stiff after that bicycle lesson. The 
garden wants weeding terribly. When you 


UNCLE JOSHUA’S VISIT. 


105 

come across a stone or a snail, chuck it into 
the garden next door — that’s what I do.” 

“ Y our neighbours have not called upon 
you, I understand,” replied Uncle, preparing 
to weed. 

At breakfast on Wednesday Belinda re- 
minded our visitor it was her turn to amuse 
him. , 

“ I have to take some drawings up to the 

office in Fleet Street. You can come 

with me. Then we’ll go on, look at the 
shops, and come home outside an omni- 
bus.” 

Belinda begged Uncle to wait below 
while she went upstairs to the editorial sanc- 
tum. He sat on the stairs and had a doze, 
for his night’s rest had been much disturbed 
by bicycle nightmare. Business finished, 
they directed their steps toward Piccadilly 
Circus, up Regent Street, and along Oxford 
Street to Buzzard’s. 

“We sha’n’t be home in time for lunch,” 


I06 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

said Belinda, ‘‘ so wedl have a glass of lemon- 
ade and some cake.’’ She insisted on pay- 
ing for both. ‘‘ If you want to spend your 
money, Uncle, you can buy me some trifle 
down Bond Street.” 

In Bond Street she remembered she want- 
ed some buttons, and they went into a shop. 
When the assistant had turned to get the 
buttons Belinda murmured: 

You must buy something; we can’t go 
out only having bought buttons.” 

Uncle couldn’t remember what he wanted. 
He looked round vacantly at exquisite etcet- 
eras of feminine attire. 

You choose something,” he whispered 
at last, '' and I’ll pay for it.” 

Belinda inquired the way to the blouse 
department, and spent ten minutes in decid- 
ing whether blue chiffon or pink silk would 
be most becoming. 

‘‘ Blue’s my colour — but then, it’s more 
expensive,” she sighed regretfully. 


UNCLE JOSHUA’S VISIT. 


107 

A few shillings is not worth mention- 
ing/’ returned Uncle, so Belinda decided on 
the blue. She insisted on taking it with her, 
and when they got outside the shop handed 
the box to Uncle, saying: 

People won’t notice you carrying a par- 
cel, they might stare at me.” 

So Joshua carried the parcel all down 
Piccadilly till they got a ’bus at Hyde Park 
Corner and started for home, Belinda chat- 
ting delightfully all the way. 

William didn’t see where Uncle’s fun had 
come in on Belinda’s day. 

He’ll see me in the blouse,” replied the 
owner of it. 

Uncle was easily pleased. 

Thursday he appeared rather tired. Jack 
kindly proposed spending a quiet morning 
together in his painting-room. 

“ I once did a day’s shopping with the 
girls,” he confided. They spent five min- 
utes at every window, and then said I had 
s 


io8 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


hurried them so, that they couldn’t remem- 
ber what they wanted.” 

Then he made up a divan on the floor. 

I’m much in want of a model in a sleep- 
ing attitude — if you’d like to smoke a bit, I’ve 
no objection.” 

Uncle placed himself in the required posi- 
tion after handing his cigar-case to Jack, beg- 
ging him to try one of its occupants. Then 
he dozed off; the artist woke him up once 
to explain that he couldn’t draw him with 
his mouth open, but with this exception 
Uncle spent an entirely restful morning. 
The afternoon we spent quietly in the gar- 
den. 

On Friday, Uncle maintained it was im- 
perative he should go into the city. Pamela 
was not sure if she should let him go. 

It’s my day to supply you with pleas- 
ure, and I don’t care about the city.” 

'' There’s the Tower of London,” ob- 
served Uncle, that’s quite worth seeing, 


UNCLE JOSHUA’S VISIT. 


109 

and we could come back on a steamboat part 
of the way.” 

Pamela agreed to this, only stipulating 
he was not to be more than an hour over his 
business. On her return, she said: 

“ After all. Uncle only had to go to the 
Bank of England — and he makes such a fuss 
about trifles. We met a person he knew just 
outside, who seemed surprised to see him.” 

“ What did they talk about? ” queried 
Belinda. 

“ Oh, William’s gibberish,” replied Wil- 
liam’s sister. “ Stocks and shares, and bears 
and lions ” 

“ It’s Olivia who talks about lions, not 
William,” I corrected. 

“ Uncle was quite lively — for him,” con- 
tinued Pamela. “ This Mr. Dash said, 

‘ You’re a warm man to-day, eh, Chilcott? ’ 
Uncle replied: ‘ Well, I am pretty warm; the 
thermometer is about 80° in the shade, I 
should say.’ And they both laughed. Then 


1 10 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


Uncle introduced me. Mr. Dash said, 

‘ Lucky young lady to have you for an un- 
cle — ’ ‘ Lucky Uncle, I think,’ said ” 

That was nice of him,” interrupted Be- 
linda, for of course any girls might have an 
uncle like Joshua, but it isn’t every man has 
a niece like you, Pamela.” 

Pamela blushed with pleasure, and think- 
ing it a propitious moment, mentioned that 
she would so like to try on Belinda’s new 
blouse. 

“ Not to wear it, of course — but just to 
see how I look in it.” 

Belinda demurred. She would think 
about it. 

‘‘ You see, I don’t like other people put- 
ting on my things,” she explained; ‘‘if they 
look nice in them it puts me out of conceit 
with myself, and if they don’t look nice — 
why, it puts me out of conceit with my 
clothes.” 

The Vicar called early on Saturday morn- 


UNCLE JOSHUA^S VISIT. 


Ill 


ing, bringing some tickets for a local concert 
to be held that evening in the parish school- 
room. He hoped we would go and take 
Uncle with us. 

After he had hurried away we expressed 
a wish to Uncle to have his photo. On 
hearing that it was many years since he had 
had one taken, we begged him to come, 
there and then, into Richmond and have it 
done. The notion pleased him and we all 
started together. He looked so small and 
lonely sitting up on the photographer’s dais 
by himself, that Belinda hinted he would 
show to better advantage in a group; so we 
arranged ourselves gracefully round him. 
The photographer took the negative into 
the dark room, which gave Belinda the op- 
portunity to remark, without fear of contra- 
diction, she knew she would come out badly, 
as a strong desire to yawn had seized her just 
at the critical moment. 

But anyway I should look a sight,” she 


II2 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


concluded, mournfully. ‘‘ I never come out 
well in a group.’’ 

Then why not be taken alone? ” said 
Uncle, rather surprised, for she had suggest- 
ed the group herself. 

Belinda modestly consented and was done 
in three attitudes. 

When the photographer professed him- 
self satisfied, she exclaimed: 

'' It hardly seems fair that I should be 
taken alone and not Maria or Pamela — you, 
Maria, especially ought to be done. The 
Church has asked several times for your 
photo.” 

But Uncle Joshua didn’t approve of his 
nieces’ photographs being sold for a charity, 
which was what he understood Belinda to 
mean. We might be taken separately if we 
would promise him solemnly to keep them 
strictly private, not otherwise. 

It was a very successful morning. 

I don’t think you’ve come out so very 


UNCLE JOSHUA’S VISIT. 


II3 

badly, Uncle,” said Belinda on our way 
home. 

William spent his half-holiday taking 
Uncle for a long pull up the river. 

Joshua paid for the boat, I suppose,” 
hazarded Belinda on their return. 

‘Joshua!” cried William. ‘‘No, I did, 
of course; he’s the visitor, not I.” 

William’s way of managing circumstances 
was less original than ours, still Uncle seemed 
to have been much struck with his ideas 
on hospitality. During supper he said sud- 
denly: 

“ I should like you to invest a small sum 
for me, William. I feel it will be safe in your 
hands, my boy,” and passed him a ten-pound 
note. 

“ Rather,” responded his nephew heartily. 
“ I’ll put it in some safe concern, and keep it 
warm for you. I’m not one of those fools 
who play with large sums and run high risks, 
and end by losing all they’ve got.” 


1 14 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

I, recollecting how Uncle had dropped a 
fortune, meant only to give William a hint 
not to hurt his feelings, but William had no 
intuitive perceptions. 

‘‘ That's twice you've kicked me under 
the table, Maria! " he cried; ‘‘you might re- 
member I've got a corn! " 

The boys wouldn't come to the concert; 
they preferred a smoke over a game of chess. 
When we reached the door of the schoolroom 
I drew out the tickets for the first time — they 
were only three, and we were four! 

I knew Belinda expected me to offer to 
return; but I maintained a dead silence, hav- 
ing reasons of my own for thinking I should 
enjoy the concert. 

“ Well, Uncle must go back," said she 
at length. 

Uncle, not understanding quite what the 
discussion was about, intimated that he 
should be delighted. 

“ That's a nice way to speak," cried Be- 


UNCLE JOSHUA^S VISIT. nj 

Hilda, after all the sacrifices weVe made to 
amuse you! 

Uncle, seeing he had made some mistake, 
got behind my sleeves. 

Pamela had a gleam of intellect. 

If we sit close we might all four man- 
age to sit on three chairs.’’ 

We carried this practical suggestion into 
effect. The Vicar came up and remarked on 
our looking a little warm. 

I’ll see what I can do,” he went on, 
grasping the reason of our tight appearance. 
In a few minutes he came back. There’s a 
seat here. Miss Maria, next to mine, if you 
will have it.” 

I took it. It was a very nice concert, and 
I thoroughly enjoyed it. When we got 
home and were going to bed, Belinda said: 
^^Well?” 

Well,” I responded, what? ” 

'' Oh, nothing,” answered my enigmatic 
sister, and got into bed. 


Il6 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

Olivia came home on Sunday afternoon, 
and ran upstairs to take her hat off in her 
own room. She knew of Uncle Joshua’s 
presence in the house, but was not aware of 
his occupying her apartment. She opened 
the door without knocking, and discovered 
its inmate spreading patent varnish on his 
boots with a guilty air, by the aid of his fore- 
finger. Olivia had no manners. Instead of 
apologising for her abrupt entrance, or say- 
ing something pleasant by way of a greeting, 
she sat down on a chair and observed crossly: 

In my room, too! ” 

‘‘ Maria put me here,” stammered Uncle, 
apologetically. 

Maria was always liberal with other peo- 
ple’s belongings,” continued my sister gra- 
ciously. I should have thought William 
might have blacked your boots, he has noth- 
ing to do on a Sunday.” 

Olivia was suffering from irritability, 
which we forgave when we understood she 


UNCLE JOSHUA'S VISIT. 


II7 

had spent the entire week making an index 
to the Poet’s latest literary achievement. 

It’s got regularly into my brain,” she 
sighed. I go about thinking what letter 
everything should be placed under. Every 
insignificant trifle has to be indexed. Take 
you, Uncle, for instance. You’re Uncle, and 
Joshua, and Chilcott. So you would go 
down under U and J and C. In one place 
you’d be Chilcott, comma. Uncle Joshua; in 
the next Joshua Chilcott, comma. Uncle; 
and in the third. Uncle Joshua Chilcott, no 
comma. Oh, it’s maddening! ” 

‘‘ I should think Chilcott, Joshua, would 
be enough,” said the owner of the name, wip- 
ing a black forefinger meditatively on the 
sole of his boot. '^You see, it isn’t really 
necessary to mention the Uncle part of the 
business.” 

Oh, of course, if you’re ashamed of us,” 
retorted Olivia, there’s no more to be said. 

. . . My room will smell now of blacking 


Il8 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

for ever so long, and Fm coming home for 
holidays in six weeks.’’ 

Uncle expressed his intention of leaving 
orders with the nearest decorators for the 
room to be done up, whitewashed and re- 
papered, on his departure, to remove any lin- 
gering odour of varnish, and Olivia was mol- 
lified. 

'' Let’s have tea early and go for a walk,” 
she pleaded; ‘'it will help to get the index 
out of my brain.” 

So in an hour or so we left the house for 
a lengthy stroll. Owing to the varnish not 
having had time to dry, as we went along the 
dusty roads. Uncle’s boots took on a more 
and more speckled appearance. 

“ He can’t even clean his boots properly,” 
said Olivia loudly, as he stepped on in front 
with Pamela. “ I’m ashamed to be seen out 
with him.” 

Olivia was not a consistent Bohemian. 
Later, when she had left. Uncle remarked: 


UNCLE JOSHUA’S VISIT. 


II9 

I thought Olivia seemed a trifle put 

out.’’ 

We discoursed on how she had met with 
a disappointment. 

'' The cause is a lost illusion, and the effect 
bad temper,” said 1. 

She found mere prose where she had 
expected poetry,” summoned up Jack in con- 
clusion. 

Or at least blank verse,” added William, 
who could never be induced to believe any- 
thing was poetry that did not rhyme. 

Uncle was sorry to hear it; personally, he 
had been fortunate in retaining many illu- 
sions with which he had started in life. 

Belinda said this remark strengthened 
her in the belief that people who cherished 
illusions had a silly habit of letting practical 
advantages slip through their hands. 

This seemed so personal, that to turn the 
subject I begged Uncle to say what he 
thought of our furniture. 


120 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


Why, it’s very nice,” he answered, 
glancing round — very nice, what there is 
of it.” This, perhaps, sounding a little fee- 
ble in his own ears, he added briskly — ‘‘ and 
quite enough, such as it is.” 

It’s time you went to bed if you’re go- 
ing to get silly,” said Belinda. 

Uncle’s visit had been such a pleasure that 
we pressed him to stay another week; but he 
refused, so we spent the Monday morning in 
helping him to pack. Pamela cried as he 
bade us good-bye, and he, not knowing how 
near the surface were her tears, was touched. 

“ You must come and stay with me, little 
Pamela woman; and don’t be in too great a 
hurry to go on the Stage — it’s easy enough 
to go on, the difficulty is to get on.” 

I have noticed that men resent being ex- 
pected to know much about any profession 
outside their own, with the exception of the 
Stage; they all appear to be aware of some- 
thing discreditable to the Drama. 


UNCLE JOSHUA’S VISIT. 


I2I 


Belinda was angry with Pamela for cry- 
ing. 

“ He’ll think now, because you pumped 
up a few tears, that you care more for him 
than we do,” she said, as we stood by the 
gate watching the hansom out of sight; 
“ and anyone can cry, at least I could if it 
didn’t make my nose so red. If we do go 
down to The Court, of course we shall go in 
order of age.” 

“ Then Maria will go first and not you, 
Belinda,” retorted Pamela, putting a damp 
handkerchief into her pocket. 

“ And if Maria,” said the second of the 
family complacently, “ should happen not to 
be anxious to leave Brick Park just at pres- 
ent, remember in that case I should be the 
eldest.” 


CHAPTER VIL 


WE TAKE IN A BOARDER. 

It was entirely Belinda’s notion to take 
in a boarder. 

Nowadays,” she said, it is considered 
quite the thing to have a stranger within the 
gates for purely pecuniary reasons.” 

What, a lodger! ” cried Jack, in dis- 
gust. 

No, not a lodger. Jack; a paying 
guest.” 

Later she confessed that her idea was not 

quite original, but adapted from a book. 

Fiction was ever our guide, philosopher, and 

friend. Was she to blame if things didn’t 

turn out in real life after the same fashion 

they had in the novel? Anyone at all well 
122 


WE TAKE IN A BOARDER. 


123 

read in the literature of the day must be aware 
of the great gulf fixed between life in the sub- 
urbs and Mudie's latest! 

In Belinda's book the paying guest 
boarded with a widow and her lovely daugh- 
ter, in a dear little secluded cottage on the 
borders of Devon. He spent his time inno- 
cently, fishing for trout in the morning and 
for compliments in the afternoon. The 
widow cooked the fish and the daughter sup- 
plied the compliments — so lavishly, indeed, 
that he came to feel he could not live without 
her. So he proposed, and was accepted as a 
captain on half-pay; and then he turned out 
to be a lord, with a castle of his own — not in 
the air but on the ground — supported by a 
substantial income. They were happy ever 
after, only his relations said among them- 
selves there was evidently more than one sort 
of fishing in Devonshire. 

Our boarder gave us a surprise, but there 

the parallel ended. 

9 


124 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


William thought we should do well to 
have a girl. 

Some American, now,’^ he suggested, 
who wants to see life in London.’’ 

But Belinda would not agree to this. 

Americans’ ideas on life are limited. I 
fear they don’t stretch as far as Brick Park, 
S.W. Besides, dear boy, a man is so much 
less trouble in the house than a girl. He’s out 
more, and doesn’t ask so many questions. If 
we feed him well, he won’t notice there isn’t 
a towel-rack in his bedroom, whilst a woman 
would be telling us she couldn’t sleep for fear 
the chair would catch cold with a damp towel 
upon it.” 

'' Oh, all right, have it your own way,” 
quoth William; ‘'but don’t come down on 
me when the paying guest don’t pay.” 

Privately Belinda confided to me another 
reason: 

“ You never know, Maria; suppose some 
designing woman came along. Jack is so 


WE TAKE IN A BOARDER. 


125 

handsome, and even William is good-looking 
in a plain way. We couldn’t, for the sake of 
appearances, begin by telling the boarder 
they haven’t a sixpence between them.” 

I recalled how Olivia, in a pet, once said 
that the only thing Belinda was ever gener- 
ous about was giving away her own sex. 

Our first guest was a retired Colonel. 
He only stayed a week, and gave no reason 
for leaving, beyond that he felt sure the 
neighbourhood didn’t agree with him. But 
to Mary he confided that his bed was so nar- 
row, when he wanted to turn over he had to 
get out, walk round, and get in at the other 
side. We did not believe this story until we 
found that the Colonel pitched his retired 
tent at a longer established boarding-house 
than ours, a few yards down the road. Then 
Belinda pointed out how it was the essence of 
courtesy to tell tarradiddles when the truth 
would have hurt our feelings. 

There must be ups and downs to every 


126 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

undertaking/’ she concluded. ‘‘ For my 
part, I mean to talk to the Colonel as if I 
knew No. 15 was surrounded by pure oxy- 
gen.” 

She did, and the Colonel remained our 
very good friend, and frequently took us to 
Hurlingham. 

Our second boarder was a pale, subdued 
young man, good-looking in a melancholy 
fashion, with an abstracted manner. He 
grew confidential as we fell to treating him 
as one of the family, and related how he was 
a widower, his wife having died but recently. 
We tried to cheer him up, encouraging him 
to talk about his troubles — a good talk will 
talk the sting out of most misfortunes. The 
result of our sympathy was for a while un- 
certain. He was out most of the day, re- 
turning each evening seemingly more weary 
and dispirited than the last. One night the 
clock had struck nine before he put in an ap- 
pearance. We were sitting in the drawing- 


WE TAKE IN A BOARDER. 


127 

room variously occupied, when he strode in 
carrying something in his arms which he de- 
posited on the floor in our midst. 

It was a baby boy about a year old! 

We were silent from surprise; our boardfer 
offered no explanation at first, but sat gazing 
at the child dejectedly. 

‘‘ Where did you find it? ” inquired Wil- 
liam as the silence grew oppressive. 

Oh, it’s mine,” replied its parent, in the 
tone of one who would say — ‘‘ A poor thing, 
but mine own.” “ The truth is, the people I 
left it with after my wife’s death won’t keep 
it any longer. They say it cries when it is 
left in the house alone.” 

‘‘I should think so!” exclaimed Pamela 
indignantly, going down on her hands and 
knees to examine it closer. Poor mite! ” 

The baby, attracted by her bright hair 
and caressing voice, gave a little coo of pleas- 
ure, ending abruptly in a great sigh, and then 
began to wail in self-pity. 


128 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


'' If I might keep him here a day or two,’’ 
broke in the father, looking anxiously from 
one to another, just until I can find some- 
one to look after him? ” 

^ Of course! ” we cried in a breath. 

‘‘ Why didn’t you bring it at first with 
your other luggage? ” asked Belinda coldly. 

What does it eat? ” I interrupted. 

He didn’t know. We called in Mary, 
whom nothing ever surprised. She rose to 
the emergency, and said, Mellin’s Food”; 
and might she take it in the kitchen? Pa- 
mela went too, but curiosity kept Belinda and 
I from following. 

The father looked so harassed and de- 
pressed, that Jack begged him to come into 
the next room and have some supper. 

Let the little beggar stay,” urged Wil- 
liam; “ I will look after him — he shall be my 
little unpaying guest.” 

William, by judiciously giving notice at 
the very time he was most required, had been 


WE TAKE IN A BOARDER. 


129 

asked to remain at a higher salary, an offer he 
accepted with an air of combined resignation 
and self-sacrifice. 

He became the baby’s slave, having it to 
early breakfast with him in the morning, and 
keeping it up late at night. He bought au- 
tomatic toys for its amusement, and alto- 
gether showed himself '' a born parent,” as 
Mary expressed it. The boy was a chubby, 
happy little soul, who expanded like a flower 
in -the sunlight under judicious care and much 
caressing. Now and again it would fall into 
abstracted fits of thought like its father, 
clasping one tiny foot with his hand, and 
gazing with unseeing eyes into some dim fu- 
turity we could not enter. On these occa- 
sions, Jack, if near, invariably used it as a 
model. In its ordinary moments it was 
never still enough to be of use to our artist. 

The father’s gratitude was touching, espe- 
cially to Belinda, when she made the boy a 
pinafore. He never noticed the garment 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


130 

was in two shades and three materials — gath- 
ered from the family piece-bag. He told 
Pamela how Belinda reminded him of his 
dead wife. 

She has the same sweet smile, and the 
same simple, guileless manners.'’ 

I decided,” smiled Pamela, repeating 
this conversation, it was better not to tell 
him that she got out of her turn to amuse 
the boy by pretending she had a toothache.” 

A fortnight passed. One evening our 
guest never came home at all; another day 
went by, and still he appeared not. We were 
growing anxious, when on the third morn- 
ing Belinda received a letter postmarked 
Liverpool. Our late inmate wrote that by 
the time we received his epistle he would be 
on the sea, bound for America; he had tried 
in vain to obtain occupation in London with- 
out success, and risked his last earnings in 
setting forth for a new country. He apolo- 
gised for leaving the boy on our hands, and 


WE TAKE IN A BOARDER. 


I3I 

would send for him directly he had got some 
sort of home, however poor, together. Till 
then he trusted we would not turn the child 
adrift. The letter concluded by thanking us ^ 
for our kindness, which had kept the writer 
from despair. 

Pamela cried in sympathy with the pa- 
thos. Jack laughed and tossed the baby, 
who had not missed its father in the least, in 
the air. 

Belinda was mortified into admitting that 
boarders were an utter failure. 

1 did think he was a gentleman!” she 
cried angrily. 

Mr. Kittiwake, who had dropped into the 
habit of discussing our family plans with the 
freedom of a relation and the self-assurance 
of a stranger, came in to see us nearly every 
day. He took an increasing dislike to the 
deserted orphan left in our charge, and sug- 
gested, as I finished reading its father’s letter 
aloud, that we should hand the child over to 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


132 

some nice motherly woman who would look 
after it. 

There’s Mrs. Davis now — she ” 

Never! ” I interrupted. ‘‘ How do you 
know she would be good to the darling? Be- 
sides, William would never part with him.” 

Well, of course, you must take your 
own way. Miss Chilcott,” said the Vicar 
stiffly. 

'' My name is Maria,” I answered with 
dignity, '' and you seem to forget that it is 
our duty — our duty — to look after the fa- 
therless.” 

Well, that’s just the point I was coming 
to. Mrs. Davis has had several children of 
her own, and understands them thoroughly. 
And you know — I don’t mention it to hurt 
your feelings, but you told me yourself you 
had missed a button the boy was playing 
with.” 

He may have swallowed the button, or 
he may not. It may be on the floor still ” 


WE TAKE IN A BOARDER. 


133 


Oh, of course, if the floor hasn’t been 
swept since, there’s some hope,” began the 
Vicar cheerfully. 

This room is swept every day,” I cried 
indignantly, I do it myself; but I might, it’s 
just possible I overlooked the button.” 

Mr. Kittiwake apologised for his insinua- 
tion, and begged me to believe he considered 
me the very latest edition of the last chapter 
of Proverbs. 

But seriously. Miss Maria, when that 
boy comes to grow up he will have to be 
educated and put into some profession. Do 
you really feel inclined to take the responsi- 
bility? ” 

We had not looked so far ahead. 

“ His father says he will send for him di- 
rectly he can,” I maintained faintly. 

The Vicar was silent save for a contemp- 
tuous snif¥, which made me angry. 

Only last Sunday,” I cried, you 
preached about people drawing uncharitable 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


134 

conclusions! You’d better go home and 
read your own sermon.” 

My listener gasped. Perhaps he had 
never been spoken to in that way before. 
He seized his hat and rose offendedly. 

Oh, you can go! ” I went on, picking 
up a duster I had been using on his entrance 
and flicking a chair vigorously. 

He went without a word. 

Someone has said there is no .noise as 
effective as silence. When He had about 
reached the front door I recollected how 
wrong it was to be disrespectful to the Vicar 
of one’s parish. If I called ‘‘ Theophilus ” 
instead of Mr. Kittiwake,” it was because 
I had fallen into the habit of using his Chris- 
tian name to myself when thinking of him. 
He came back and stood in the doorway. 
The bead fringe, an item in Pamela’s 
scheme of furnishing, parted and hung 
round his head, rather detracting from his 
dignity. 


WE TAKE IN A BOARDER. 


135 

“ I may think over your plan of sending 
the boy to Mrs. Davis.” 

“ Is that all? ” 

That’s all — I’m afraid I’ve rather wasted 
your time this morning.” 

But instead of going, the Vicar stepped 
into the room and seated himself with an ob- 
stinate expression. 

“ You do want dusting,” I observed criti- 
cally; “ your coat looks as if it hadn’t been 
brushed for a twelvemonth.”' 

“ Maria! ” 

“ Well?” 

“ Say you are sorry.” 

“ Sorry — what for? ” 

“ What for? For — er — for not taking 
my advice, my pastoral advice. Miss Chil- 
cott, in the spirit it was offered. For be- 
ing rude, very rude in fact, Maria,” he con- 
cluded, dropping the clerical tone and as- 
suming the expression of an injured school- 
boy. 


136 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

'' But Fm not sorry — you wouldn’t like 
me to tell an untruth to please you? ” 

The Vicar sighed and sat still. 

I will let you know — send a note round 
— when I am,” I said. 

Still silence. Far in the distance I heard 
the hum of a street piano; upstairs Pamela 
was singing softly to its tune. 

The fresh morning light f.ell on the Vicar’s 
face as he sat immovable. He looked tired 
and depressed. After all — 

‘‘ Well, I suppose I was rude,” I admitted 
grudgingly. 

‘^You were,” he assented cheerfully. 
Then he rose, taking the duster from my 
hand. I prepared to listen to a homily, but 
instead these words fell on my ear: 

I love you, Maria.” 

Surprise restored my self-assurance. 

‘^Really!” I retorted, moving away. 

One would hardly have guessed it, judging 
from our previous conversation.” 


WE TAKE IN A BOARDER. 137 

IVe loved you ever since I saw you, 
ever since Tve known you, especially since 
you sent me an anonymous Postal Order for 
half-a-crown to show your sympathy with the ^ 

deficiency in the offertory ’’ 

I never did — never, never, never; some 

horrid girl in love with you ’’ 

Oh, come,’’ said the Vicar, smiling; 
why, it was folded in a sheet of paper 
stamped with this address.” 

Then I recalled Belinda’s confidence^ how 
she had sent a gift to the Church. She was 
never consistent: it was like her to send it 
anonymously in a sheet of paper which gave 
away the donor. I debated mentally whether 
I should explain this or not. 

But no, he might go back and begin to 
love Belinda. 

'' I’ve changed a good deal since then, 
Mr. Kittiwake.” 

You grow prettier every day,” agreed 
the Vicar comfortably. 


138 BELINDA—AND SOME OTHERS. 

Whose dignity could stand against a pro- 
posal of this sort? Not mine. 

Theophilus, as he desired me to call him, 
helped to finish dusting the room. He broke 
two ornaments, was very slow, and shook his 
duster out of the window in such a way that 
the dust all flew back in his face. 

As twelve struck he remembered having 
made an appointment for eleven, and com- 
menced saying good-bye with reluctance.' 

He may have been, as was said, weak 
about the knees, but his arms were strong 
and tender. 

“ I suppose,’’ he hazarded presently, 
that I must come and have a talk with Wil- 
liam — he appears to be the head of the 
family.” 

Oh, William likes you! ” 

“ That’s kind of him. Do you think Be- 
linda likes me? ” 

Well,” I replied, dubiously, ‘‘ Pamela 
does.” 


WE TAKE IN A BOARDER. 


139 


said Belinda!^’ 

‘‘ The truth is — to be open with you — Be- 
linda laughs at you a good deal. You would 
rather know at once, wouldn’t you? — you 
don’t mind? ” 

“ Oh, not at all,” responded Theophilus; 
but he bit the end of his moustache vexedly. 

After all, who’s Belinda ” 

Belinda’s your sister,” replied my future 
husband, sententiously; ‘'and of course I 
wish all your relations to like me as I wish 
to like them all.” 

“ Shall I have to like all yours? ” I que- 
ried, blankly. 

“ I’ve only got one, an uncle ” 

“ That’s all I’ve got ” 

“ Yes, and by-the-by, Maria, when Mr. 
Chilcott was here I noticed that you — all of 
you — didn’t treat him — er — well, like an 
uncle, in fact.” 

“ If you have a copy of Hozv to Treat an 

Uncle, you might lend it to me. But all the 

10 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


140 

same we cried when he went away; what 
more could a man expect? ’’ 

‘‘ Would you cry if I went away, Maria, 
little woman? ’’ 

I thought he would never go — in the 
hall, too! 

When he at last left, a sudden idea struck 
me. I ran out and caught him up at the end 
of our secluded road. 

‘‘ Theophilus, you really do mean to 
marry me? ’’ 

'' Of course,’’ he answered, looking puz- 
zled. 

‘Wou never mentioned the word ‘mar- 
riage ’ when we were talking.” 

“ I supposed you would understand my 
intentions were honourable,” remarked the 
person addressed, loftily. He was so quickly 
of¥ended. 

“ I did, then I recollected that in books 
the heroine always gets angry if the actual 
word ‘ marriage ’ isn’t mentioned.” 


WE TAKE IN A BOARDER. 


I4I 

When you’re my wife you sha’n’t read 
so many rubbishy novels,” replied the Vicar, 
at the same moment producing a note from 
his pocket. In case you were out, I 
brought this to leave — you’d better read it. 
It will, perhaps, dispel any doubts as to my 
intentions.” 

Oh, no, I don’t really want — well, per- 
haps, just to satisfy Belinda; she might not 
believe.” 

But Theophilus put it back in his pocket. 

'' I don’t care about other people reading 
my letters to you, especially Belinda. She 
might make fun of it.” 

Which was exactly what she would have 
done. 

But how can I answer,” I asked meekly, 
if I don’t read it?” 

He wavered; finally, on my promising no 
eyes but mine should ever see it, handed it 
over. 

I read it twice or more, and sent the an- 


142 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


swer by Mary, in case it should get lost in the 
post. Mary congratulated me, saying of 
course she should keep her promise of living 
with the first member of the family that got 
married. 

‘‘And I wish you joy. Miss Maria; and 
as it couldn’t be Miss Pamela, I’d rather it 
was you than Miss Belinda.” 

When Belinda came in from a long morn- 
ing’s sketching in town, I related what had 
occurred in her absence. She promised never 
to divulge that she sent the Postal Order. 

“ Though I shouldn’t have wasted it had 
I guessed he was going to be my brother- 
in-law.” 

“ He thinks you don’t like him, Belinda.” 

“ Well, he’s hit the right nail on the head 
for once in his life. Still, I’ll try to be nice 
to him for your sake; and, Maria, I think 
you’d be more comfortable in your mind if 
you paid me back that half-crown.” 

Which I did. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A LETTER FROM BOHEMIA. 

We had neither seen nor heard from Oliv- 
ia for nearly a fortnight, when the early post 
brought us a long, type-written epistle from 
the one absent member of our circle. 

Pamela, to whom it was addressed, volun- 
teered to read it aloud at the breakfast-table. 

“ It’s in Olivia’s best literary style,” she 
announced, “and begins: 

“ My dear P. and the rest, including Jin- 
kie — 

“ Do not, I pray you, picture me still 
weeping among the ashes of disappointment, 
clothed in the sackcloth of lost illusions. 

“ Illusions are never lost; they are merely 

143 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


144 

exchanged. I have exchanged mine on Bo- 
hemia. 

The ideas I cherished so fondly would 
not have been in keeping with the end of this 
century. As you know, I would rather have 
chosen to live in the days when to write any- 
thing longer than your own name and ad- 
dress laid you open to the charge of eccentrici- 
ty, than in these when one can write a novel 
or wear a divided skirt without being other 
than commonplace. Truly is it written, 
^ Man knoweth not his latter end,’ neither, 
unfortunately, hath he any choice in the date 
of his beginning. 

‘‘ Bohemia improves vastly on acquaint- 
ance.” 

It’s more than the toast does,” inter- 
rupted Jack, making an onslaught on the 
butter. 

Its spirit is and ever will be the same, 
but its landmarks alter with the tides of each 
generation. It is no longer a country in- 


A LETTER FROM BOHEMIA. 


145 

habited by a few geniuses, and many ingen- 
ious failures, for it now owns no genius — at 
least, none universally so admitted; neither 
has it any failures, for all, apparently, have a 
few believers. Its boundaries of late have 
been greatly enlarged — to admit of large 
numbers of the Upper Ten Thousand. The 
Upper Ten have developed brains; and Bo- 
hemia in return has yoked itself with conven- 
tions, and now leaves visiting cards where 
formerly it left marks on the door-handle. 
There is, too, some difficulty in deciding 
whether it is better to be a Social Lion in 
Bohemia, or a Bohemian in Society; both 
have an excellent time, and a large circle of 
imitators. 

‘‘ By-the-by, ask Maria if she would look 
out and do up my green silk skirt. Velve- 
teen is one of the illusions I have exchanged 
— for chined 

Here Pamela paused to begin her coffee, 
and Belinda went on with the letter: 


146 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

I have asked for a holiday — a whole 
holiday — next Wednesday. ‘My eldest 
brother comes of age/ said I in extenuation 
of my demand; ‘ if you can spare me, I 
should like to be present.’ The Poet seemed 
surprised, but consented, remarking he never 
knew before that people ever came of age in 
the suburbs, but I might go by all means, and 
he hoped I should enjoy it. So I shall come 
early — early — early in the morning, and stay 
late. 

“ I made my first celebrated acquaintance 
under a cloud of misapprehension. If it had 
not been for his inopportune arrival I should 
have spent last Sunday afternoon with you as 
usual. He came to call, found his intention 
frustrated, there being no one at home; the 
parlour-maid suggested the possibility of Mrs. 
Poet returning shortly, whereupon he de- 
cided to wait upon the chance. Mrs. Poet’s 
not at home resolved itself into a rest after 
lunch in her boudoir. ‘ Pray go ’ (this to 


A LETTER FROM BOHEMIA. 


147 


me) ‘ and talk to him; it’s only Brown — say I 
shall probably be in soon.’ ‘ Only Brown ’ 
appeared a pleasant but in no way remarkable 
pei'sonage. He opened the conversation 
with the aid of the weather, after I had intro- 
duced myself and begged him to await the 
return of his hostess. He told me he had 
been to church that morning, and I gath- 
ered he had spent the time by reckoning how 
many degrees the thermometer went up to 
each additional worshipper. 

“ I adroitly used his opening to turn the 
conversation into a more personal channel. 
His name conveyed nothing to me, and I 
did not want to spend more time than I could 
help talking to a nobody. 

“ ‘ Whether one feels the heat or not de- 
pends greatly on one’s occupation. Now 
what do you do? ’ 

“ ‘ Oh, I — er — I paint a little, and draw 
a little,’ he said modestly, pulling his mous- 
tache. 


148 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

It was as I had thought; here I had lost 
my train having to stay and talk to a mere be- 
ginner, with one foot, perhaps only a toe, 
on the ladder of renown, and the other *still 
deep among the submerged Middle Classes. 

But it was my duty to be polite, so we 
had a long chat about Art and artists, and I 
advised him to stick steadily to one branch, 
as he owned to having dabbled in oils, water- 
colours, and even tried illustrating. Seeing 
that he was still young enough to make a 
career possible, I pointed out his best plan 
would be to begin again at the beginning, 
and begged him to go in for a thorough 
course of School of Art training. 

Then Mrs. Poet came in with her bon- 
net on, and murmured something about the 
heat in the park being overpowering. We 
had tea, and the visitor departed. 

‘ Is his name really Brown? ’ I said, 
more for something to say than any other 


reason. 


A LETTER FROM BOHEMIA. 


149 

“‘Why, of course, dear. Brown, R.A.; 
surely you’ve heard of him.’ 

“ I tried to forget about the School of 
Art, and nearly had when it was recalled to 
me next morning. I went into the City to 
get some type-writing paper. The Poet said 
I might go in an omnibus — he’s very good 
at stretching my secretarial duties to include 
something pleasant — so I started. A ’bus 
came along, full outside, but the conductor 
was missing. It appeared a good opportu- 
nity for practising getting on without stop- 
ping the vehicle. I ran, gave a little jump, 
and sank gracefully into a corner. The con- 
ductor came down and clipped my ticket re- 
proachfully. ‘ Hif there ’ad been a accident. 
Miss, I should a been blamed.’ ‘ You would,’ 
I agreed cheerfully, ‘ for talking to the driver 
instead of looking out for passengers.’ 

“ Then I noticed I had planted my para- 
sol down on the toe of a passenger next to 
me. I looked at its owner to apologise. 


150 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

'' It was Brown, R.A., grinning apprecia- 
tively at my sally with the conductor. I 
begged his pardon, and he complimented me 
on the way I had got in. I confided my am- 
bition was to get out when the ’bus was 
moving. 

' Pray don’t,’ he said, quite earnestly, 
‘ you might come on your nose, and that 
would be a pity.’ 

He then feared he had kept me in on 
Sunday afternoon, as afterward he recalled 
that I was dressed for walking, which gave 
me the opportunity of delicately insinuating 
I had not known at the time I was entertain- 
ing an Academician unawares. But he as- 
sured me he had never enjoyed a conversa- 
tion so much in his life, and during the drive 
— for he, too, had to go in the City — begged 
permission to paint me. 

He says it isn’t often that he got the 
chance of painting the true Titian colouring. 

' You shall have the first study when it’s 


A LETTER FROM BOHEMIA. 


I5I 

done,’ he added, for I had to demur a little 
not to appear too anxious. 

“ Only two weeks to August, and then the 
holidays. Ever yours, 

“ Olivia. 

“ P.S. — Tell William my hair isn’t red, it’s 
Titian.” 

“ Fancy telling an R.A. to go to a School 
of Art. Olivia’s got no tact,” said Belinda; 
“ and I’ve had no breakfast.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 

Olivia arrived early on the morning of 
Jack’s birthday. So early, indeed, that the 
hero of the occasion had not risen. After 
well rattling the handle of his locked door, 
she seated herself beside his hot-water can in 
the passage and commenced to remonstrate 
loudly with him on his habits of late rising. 

Jack mistook her for Belinda, who, the 
soul of punctuality herself, generally called 
each member of the household on her own 
account. 

Our voices were all much alike; so simi- 
lar, indeed, that Belinda once obtained pos- 
session of some facts I particularly desired to 

withhold by speaking disparagingly of herself 
152 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 153 

in the third person from the bottom of the 
stairs when I was engaged in a room above. 
Olivia recalled this incident, and, thinking to 
arouse Jack’s sympathy and hasten his toilet, 
acted on the recollection. 

'' There’s poor Olivia,” she screamed, 
she’ll be hurrying down early, and find no 
breakfast ready! ” 

Not she,” responded Jack sleepily. 
Olivia’s not the sort of old bird to be caught 
with the chaff of early rising. She won’t 
start without her breakfast! ” 

I wouldn’t have got up at half-past six, 
and walked all the way, if I’d known you were 
going to come of age in bed,” returned a 
voice whose tone of martyrdom, streaked 
with asperity, was peculiarly Olivia’s own. 

Jack, hearing his mistake, and not pos- 
sessing any natural quickness for extricating 
himself from unpleasant dilemmas, was silent. 

Olivia descended to the kitchen to say she 
would faint from sheer exhaustion if break- 


154 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

fast was not on the table within five minutes. 
Mary considered it a breach of birthday eti- 
quette to commence without the person 
whose appearance into the world was being 
celebrated, so she compromised matters by 
bringing Olivia a strong cup of tea from her 
own teapot. 

Jack was immensely pleased with his pres- 
ents. Olivia had brought him a book, a nice 
book, handsomely bound, called The hihiience 
of Politics on Greek Art. Jack thanked her 
warmly. 

“ But what are all these pencil-marks? 
he inquired, turning the leaves. ‘‘ ‘ One — 
one — two — two, quote 345/ It looks al- 
most as if it had belonged to somebody? 

Olivia blushed. 

Oh, those? Those are particular bits 
that seemed worthy of careful notice. I — I 
fancied you might like to learn them by 
heart.” 

Jack said he would — when three Sun- 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE, 155 

days came in a week — and turned to un- 
wrap his next present. Olivia whispered 
to me: 

“ I meant to rub them out — they are the 
Poet’s marks. He had the book sent for re- 
view and asked me if I’d accept it, as he found 
he couldn’t spare me more than four after- 
noons a week to go out and look for a present 
for Jack. He said,” continued Olivia, relaps- 
ing into a loud tone of indignation, ‘‘ he'd 
never heard of anyone taking so long to come 
of age in his life." 

Belinda gave a large bottle of lavender 
water, with which Jack was delighted. 

It’s a ripping idea of yours, Belinda, to 
give what is even more useful to the donor 
than the recipient. I shall give you a pipe on 
your birthday." 

My gift took the form of a pair of em- 
broidered slippers. 

Oh, thank you, Maria! just what I 
wanted, they’ll be so comfortable to put on of 

ji 


156 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

an evening; but why did you choose such an 
ecclesiastical-looking design? ” 

It was one I had by me — but try them 
on, Jack.’' 

They fitted very well — a fortunate acci- 
dent, seeing I had originally intended them 
for Theophilus, who had distinctly declined 
to allow that they fitted him, being in fact a 
couple of sizes too small. There was no need 
to tell Jack this, but it fell out that the Vicar 
came in directly breakfast was over, bring- 
ing with him a nice set of paint-brushes. He 
had evidently prepared a pleasant brotherly- 
in-law little speech to accompany them, but 
taken by surprise he forgot it and blurted 
out: 

‘‘Why, you’ve got my shoes on. Jack!” 

Jack was naturally indignant. 

“Your shoes, I like that! Why, Maria 
has just given them to me — worked them 
on purpose for my birthday; besides, you 
couldn’t get into them.” 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 


157 

“ That’s so,” replied the owner of the 
clerical feet. “ But I understood Maria to 
say she was going to enlarge them.” 

I heard William, ever obvious, murmur- 
ing behind me, “ She’s put her shoe in it 
this time,” when Pamela hastily drew Jack’s 
attention to the brushes, and Olivia drew the 
Vicar’s attention to herself. 

“ I have not seen you since,” she be- 
gan, vaguely gracious — Olivia could be 

very gracious — “ but I may congratulate 

♦ 

you, mayn’t I, though I am Maria’s sister? 
I have known her every day for nineteen 
years, nineteen long years, and I assure 
you she would be a treasure to any house- 
hold.” 

And then Belinda, whose mind was run- 
ning on summer sales of haberdashery, 
chimed in with: 

“ I consider Maria quite a bargain, my- 
self.” 

Theophilus, touched by this display of 


158 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

sisterly appreciation, forgot all about the 
shoes. 

William gave his brother a packet of some 
tobacco they both held in high esteem, and 
a cigar. The latter, he said, had a history. 

‘‘ Uncle left it behind him in the agitation 
of parting, so I can’t take any credit for its 
flavour — ’twas not my choice — but for not 
smoking it, I deserve great praise. Why, 
without even being lighted it burnt a hole in 
my pocket! ” 

Jack quite understood this, and to save 
William the pain of practising any further 
self-denial, lit the cigar at that moment, only 
pausing to press William to fill up his pipe 
from the new tobacco. William had a whole 
holiday. We had begged him to ask for it, 
but to make sure of there being no refusal and 
consequent ill-feeling between him and his 
employer, he took the holiday first and asked 
for it afterward. His plan, he explained, 
was a sort of insurance against disappoint- 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 159 

merit, the only drawback to the day’s enjoy- 
ment occurring on the following morning. 

Pamela presented Jack with one of her 
new photos, in which she looked quite lovely, 
inserted in a home-made frame, together with 
some toffee, also home-made. Of the two, 
Jack, always critical, thought the toffee was 
the better made. Mary begged him to ac- 
cept a set of fine steel knitting-needles. 

My respectful compliments to Master 
Jack, and I do ’ope, now ’e’s come of age and 
is a gentleman grown, so to speak, ’e’ll leave 
off borrowin’ the kitchen skewers to clean his 
pipes with.” 

The second post arriving at ten, brought 
a small parcel from Uncle Joshua. It turned 
out to be a box containing a set of studs. 
Jack proudly pronounced them gold; but 
Belinda, comparing the current value of that 
precious metal with Uncle’s income, which 
she had assessed — without authority — at a 
few hundreds a year, derided this notion. 


l6o BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

However, Jack stuck to his opinion, though 
to convince Belinda he determined to find 
out whether he was right. 

How? ’’ queried Pamela, whose imagi- 
nation had flown to some dangerous chemical 
experiment and a possible explosion. 

“ Oh, there are ways and means,’’ re- 
turned Jack significantly. 

You might ask your Uncle,” suggested 
William. 

Olivia snubbed him for his want of man- 
ners. 

“You’ll be inviting us to write and ask 
how much they cost next! ” 

But William, unabashed, complained that 
we had mistaken his meaning. He alluded 
to another relative, not Joshua. 

Olivia’s absence from home may have ac- 
counted for her forgetting how William 
roasted this ancient chestnut on every oppor- 
tunity. - 

The boys said they had a surprise for 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. i6l 

US, to take place at noon punctually, so we 
separated to perform a few domestic duties 
necessary to the comfort of even our casually 
managed household. The Vicar too left, 
promising to return in time to be surprised 
at the appointed hour. 

The first indication of anything unusual 
was a sudden strange and uneven bumping 
noise upon the stair. We hurriedly assem- 
bled to inquire into the cause, and beheld 
William. He had attired himself after the 
manner of a sandwich-man, and the bumping 
proceeded from the ironing-board which dec- 
orated his back coming into frequent contact 
with the stairs. A drawing-board hung from 
his neck in front by a piece of string, and 
both boards announced in bold letters — a 
trifle smudged from having been drawn with 
charcoal — that Jack would hold a Private 
View in his painting-room that morning, 
precisely at noon. With one hand William 
gave us each a card of admission, illustrated 


l62 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

with a portrait of the artist by himself, 
and with the other he rang the dinner-bell. 
To ring a bell is not dramatically correct 
for a sandwich-man, it savours more of 
a town-crier, but it was effective — and 
noisy. 

The artist came out of his studio to wit- 
ness the impression made by his advertise- 
ment, and was so struck by what the sand- 
wich-man called his total ensemble, that he 
begged him to remain a moment upon the 
stairs whilst he rapidly sketched a memento 
of the scene. 

It seemed a pity that no one outside the 
family should enjoy the spectacle William 
presented, so we suggested that he should 
walk down the road and show himself to our 
neighbours. He fell in readily with the idea, 
and would have carried it out had he not met 
Theophilus at the gate. 

The Vicar surveyed the carmined nose, 
battered hat, and ragged garments of his 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 163 

future brother-in-law for some moments in 
silence. 

Well, you are rather a surprise,” he be- 
gan at length, trying to enter into the spirit 
of the joke — rather a lame attempt, for The- 
ophilus seemed ever to have grown up re- 
membering he was an only child and an 
orphan. 

You see, it's a pity to waste this get-up 
on the desert air of the family,” explained 
the sandwich-man, so Fm just going to 
surprise the neighbourhood. What can I 
cry out? — they won't take any interest in 
Jack's private view; hasn't anything been 
lost in the parish lately, Kittiwake? ” 

Theophilus had gradually edged William 
back into the hall. He then closed the front 
door and set his back against it. 

'' The only thing I know, William, in 
danger of getting lost is your reputation for 
sanity, which, as Vicar of the parish, it's 
plainly my duty to prevent happening.” 


164 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

After some demur the discussion ended 
by the sandwish-man preceding the cleric up- 
stairs, the latter holding up the ironing-board 
as if it were a train. 

Jack had divided his drawings into three 
classes: (i) Reproductions of those which 
had been published hung on one wall; they 
were not so many as we could have wished, 
but still they testified to a certain amount of 
success and a decided improvement in his 
work. (2) A few, arranged on the table, 
upon which he was still engaged. (3) Cari- 
catures, mostly grossly personal, covered 
every available space vacant in the room. 
Belinda, who liked a finger in whatever pie 
was going, had added a few of her black-and- 
white fashion illustrations. 

I'm surprised at Belinda making pub- 
lic such articles of attire,” observed Olivia, 
casting a severe eye on the drawing 
of a much frilled silk petticoat. Of 
course in the Academy one expects some- 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 165 

thing — not — not quite — but at a Private 
View ’’ 

'' Oh, we haven’t asked Mrs. Grundy, 
Olivia!” cried Jack lightly, but Belinda 
maintained that we had. 

Theophilus is our Mrs. Grundy,” she re- 
marked loud enough for him to hear. In- 
deed, between Belinda’s sketches which he 
did not like to look at on the one hand, and 
the caricatures of himself which he pretended 
not to see on the other, the Vicar, I feared, 
passed an uncomfortable hour. 

Then William rang the dinner-bell and 
gave out that there would be a private auc- 
tion of a few of Jack’s sketches held that even- 
ing in the garden, to be preceded by an enter- 
tainment to begin at eight. 

To occupy the afternoon we had arranged 
some bicycle races. Racing was technically 
illegal on the Queen’s highway; but in the 
quiet corner where we lived it was scarcely a 
highway, for there was only one opening to 


1 66 ' BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

Triangle Lawn, and the traffic therefore re- 
stricted to a few vehicles having immediate 
business in the neighbourhood. The boys 
had their bicycles, and hired two ladies’ ma- 
chines as near alike in weight as possible. 

Olivia decided not to race, getting up so 
early had taken the necessary energy out of 
her; and as Pamela invariably got off her 
machine if she saw a dog or a cat in case she 
should run over it, and also when any vehicle 
came in view in case it should run over her, 
she too concluded not to enter the lists. 

The course was once round the triangle; 
the road being narrow, we decided not to ride 
more than two abreast at a time; the start- 
ing point and winning post were exactly op- 
posite our own door, Olivia being umpire. 

Jack hung back a little as the time to start 
drew near, and wondered what people would 
say; so to encourage him Belinda and I 
opened the races. She insisted on having 
the right-hand side of the road, to which 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 167 

alone I attributed the fact that she won. 
Then the boys, William with the air of a pro- 
fessional scorcher, and Jack trying hard to 
appear as if setting forth for an ordinary ride, 
went round and were back before we consid- 
ered them well started. The latter believed 
he would have won, had he not been obliged 
to ride uphill over his brother’s hat, which 
had blown ofif and fallen in his path. 

‘‘ Then Tm sure I wish you hadn’t,” re- 
torted William, hooking ruefully at his head- 
gear. My hat goes down-hill now in the 
wrong place.” 

Then Jack raced me, returning an easy 
victor; but against Belinda he lost by a 
couple of yards. I, a little dispirited by two 
failures, suggested that William should be 
handicapped for my last race. He gave me 
half the course, hoping it would be enough — 
it wasn’t, as was proved by my failing to win. 
This sort of handicap doesn’t really count: 
the fear of breaking one’s nose is a real useful 


l68 BELINDA—AND SOME OTHERS. 

handicap, especially if it is a nice nose; 
though with William’s sort, even this 
wouldn’t prove an obstacle. 

By the time the last race — between Be- 
linda and William — was imminent, quite a 
crowd had collected; the inhabitants gathered 
at their windows, and betting ran high among 
loitering errand-boys. Our baker’s boy, in 
a friendly spirit, stood near the one opening 
to warn any approaching vehicle not to spoil 
the fun. Belinda disdained the offer of a 
handicap. Just as they were about to start 
the Colonel appeared, carrying a lovely box 
of French sweets. He had understood it was 
Pamela’s birthday; on finding it was Jack’s, 
he feared the sweets might not prove so ac- 
ceptable. So we told him how we were 
spending the afternoon and suggested the 
sweets should be given as a prize, an item we 
had entirely overlooked; though Pamela did 
say later that she, personally, thought it 
would have been in far better taste not to tell 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 169 

the Colonel of his mistake, but let him con- 
tinue to think it was her birthday. 

Olivia gave the signal to start. Belinda 
came in a smiling first, for William, so great 
was his self-assurance, had stopped midway 
and got off to speak to an acquaintance, 
which self-conceit lost him the victory; but 
then William had no taste for bonbons. Be- 
linda received them graciously from the Col- 
onel, who made quite a neat little speech 
about the new woman riding a bicycle and 
the pleasure of an old man giving the prize. 
Then Jack took the Colonel up to see the 
Private View, and the old gentleman, being 
a little short-sighted, picked up some carica- 
tures of himself before we had time to hide 
them, and mistook them for skits on a certain 
military neighbour with whom he was not on 
the best of terms, and enjoyed the joke im- 
mensely. So did we. The Colonel stayed 
to tea and went home in an excellent temper. 

Directly after supper we went into the 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


170 

garden, where the entertainment was to take 
place, the conclusion of the day's pleasure. 
Mary was accommodated with a chair, but 
she preferred to stand near the scullery door 
which opened on to the garden;. at intervals 
she dived into the kitchen, returning with a 
damp plate, which she dried whilst watching 
the performance. 

Belinda led off with a skirt dance, draped 
in a remnant of some light accordion-pleated 
material she had purchased at a July sale. 
Not having had time to fashion it into shape, 
she pinned it gracefully over her ordinary cos- 
tume. The exercise of dancing became the 
undoing of the pins. William thought an 
Odds and Ends Dance " would have been 
an appropriate title for this item of the pro- 
gramme. Belinda had an encore, principally 
because Olivia, who had sat indoors to play 
the dance music, insisted upon coming out to 
see whilst I played the piano. 

Then Pamela sang a negro melody with 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 


17I 

guitar accompaniment, and we all joined 
heartily in the chorus. It takes all sorts to 
make a world/ but the people next door 
struck us as a strange sort to sit in the house 
on a hot evening with every window aggres- 
sively shut fast. 

Olivia next gave us a recitation. Find- 
ing it impossible to recite on a level with the 
audience, she begged William to erect a plat- 
form out of the ironing-board supported on 
two chairs. Mounting this, she announced: 

The title of the recitation I am about 
to give you is, ' The Index-Haunted Man,' 
by that well-known authoress. Miss Olivia 
Chilcott." 

Hear, hear," cried Jack, feebly as a cock 
who, waked in the night, crows mistaking the 
moonlight for morning; but William was not 
so encouraging. 

Haven't you got over that index yet? " 
he groaned. But Olivia, unheeding, repeat- 
ed her title and commenced: 

12 


172 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


“ I am a private secretary, 

My age is twenty-four ; 

It only varies by a shade, 

A little less than more ” 


Why, you're only nineteen," I expostu- 
lated; ‘^nineteen from twenty-four leaves 
five — ^you can’t call five a shade? ’’ 

‘‘ It’s colouring the truth,’’ explained the 
recitress, so it must be a shade. 


“ I always knew my alphabet. 
But now I never can 
Forget it for a moment. 

I’m an index-haunted man.” 


Seeing the exigencies of rhyme demanded 
change of sex for the time being, we let this 
pass uncontradicted. 


“ I do not live by rule of thumb, 
Nor yet by rule of three ; 

I live, oh, much against my will, 
By rule of A B C. 

“When, rising in the morning, 

I hear the clock strike eight, 

I know that eight comes under E, 
And L is right for late,” 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 


175 

You weren't late this morning for a 
wonder," interrupted Belinda. 

Indeed, I came too early," agreed Oliv- 
ia, looking meaningly at Jack, but you 
must not interrupt. 

“ And Jack of course goes under J, 

Pamela under P, 

Though how Pd like occasionally 
To put her under D.” 

Why," asked Pamela discontentedly, 
why should you wish to put me under D? " 

It's D with a dash after it," te- 

plained Olivia, '' and it's generally when you 
take my button-hook and forget to put it 
back." 

Pamela begged her not to enter into 
details, but to proceed. I felt glad, 
on the whole, that Theophilus had pleaded 
want of time for not joining us that 
evening. 

But Olivia had not written any more, so 
the recitation ended abruptly; at some future 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


174 

time she promised to recite it again, with a 
termination. 

Then the auction of Jack’s drawings took 
place. William was the auctioneer, using 
the coal-hammer with quite a professional 
ability, and assuming a manner of jocularity 
tempered with importance orthodox to the 
occasion. 

Jack consented to take payment in kind 
for his sketches. Thus, a fine caricature of 
the Colonel measuring the width of his bed 
with a ruler and comparing it with his own 
shoulders was handed over to Belinda in ex- 
change for an old penknife. Jack, on receiv- 
ing this token of barter, exclaimed that he 
had often wondered where that knife was, 
and asked Belinda where she had found it. 

‘‘ If you are all going to give me back 
things you’ve borrowed and forgotten to re- 
turn,” said he, “ I don’t see where the fun 
of this show comes in! ” 

William insisted that the knife was a fair 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 175 

exchange for the Colonel, but the artist con- 
sidered it simply throwing the British Army 
away. 

To borrow one’s knife and then return 
it when it’s too blunt to use is ” 

Exchange is no robbery,” broke in the 
auctioneer rudely. We now come to Lot 
2. What may I say for them — a nice little 
lot? ” 

Olivia bid some postage-stamps which 
had lain fallow in her purse ever since the 
Poet had extended his hospitality to franking 
her letters. The sketches were illustrations 
of her last letter, which Jack had sketched on 
reading the same: they represented the inci- 
dent of Olivia jumping into the ’bus and fall- 
ing short of her destination. 

Which I forgive on account of its being 
so clever,” said our Bohemian, handing over 
the stamps as if they were waste paper. 

I wanted Lot 3, a certain set of drawings 
mainly devoted to showing off various char- 


1 76 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

acteristics of the Vicar; but not wishing to 
part with any of my own goods in exchange, 
I volunteered a promise not to dust Jack’s 
painting-room for a fortnight. He was satis- 
fied, but William demurred. 

‘‘ Promises,” he said, with his usual want 
of originality, ‘‘ have been known to be made 
of pie-crust. I grant you Maria’s crust is 
substantial, still it is the rule at sales to place 
some deposit with the auctioneer as a guar- 
antee of good faith and security against leav- 
ing the article on his hands.” 

So I fetched my best duster and laid it 
on the platform. 

‘‘ These sketches,” then cried the auction- 
eer, are now the property of Maria. The 
artist has exchanged them for an accumula- 
tion of dust upon his private premises. The 
lady has a personal interest in the subject of 
the drawings, which makes them valuable — 
to her only. From the point of view of an 
Art auctioneer, I should say they were not 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 


177 


only rough sketches of, but also rough 
sketches on, the Rev. Mr. Kittiwake of this 
parish.” 

Mary had no taste in caricature; she ex- 
changed a promise to make a particular kind 
of cake for a small pen-and-ink drawing of 
Pamela she had long coveted. 

Jack's studio was much reduced in card- 
board and his collection of miscellaneous 
odds and ends greatly increased by the auc- 
tion. 

About half-past ten Olivia asked William 
if he was ready. 

What for? ” queried he in reply. 

Haven't I done enough for one day? '' 

Jack assured him that he had. 

Indeed, one would think, from the way 
you've been going on, it was your birthday, 
and not mine.” 

Olivia had understood William to have 
promised to see her back to Bohemia, but it 
seemed a surprise, almost a shock, to William 


178 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

to find this was expected of him. He stipu- 
lated that they should wait for refreshment, 
and they delayed to partake of ginger-beer 
and fruit, only catching the last train. Wil- 
liam had to walk back the four miles which 
intervened between the Poet’s house and 
ours. 

Theophilus told us that, what with the 
bicycle races, the entertainment in the gar- 
den, and William being caught by the po- 
liceman in the act of getting through the 
drawing-room window at one o’clock in the 
morning because we had bolted the door, 
forgetting his absence, we had become the 
talk of the parish. 

William, in excuse, said if a man mayn’t 
be his own burglar, what may he be? But 
the Vicar was really vexed, especially as he 
had to delay announcing our engagement to 
his parishioners for a fortnight to allow the 
scandal to subside. He begged us to be a 
trifle more ordinary — a little less original in 


HOW JACK CAME OF AGE. 


179 

our behaviour — which advice I impressed 
upon my relatives. Especially did I urge 
Belinda to take some flaunting scarlet pop- 
pies out of her hat and replace them with 
flowers of a more sober hue. She complied 
with reluctance, substituting grey thistles, as 
an outward and visible sign that her con- 
science was pricking her within. Grey not 
becoming her as well as scarlet added a bit- 
terness to her criticisms on life in general, 
and life in the suburbs in particular. 

After Jack came of age we sat in the 
drawing-room' every afternoon from four to 
six, and took in The Quiver, placing it in a 
conspicuous position to catch the eye of pos- 
sible callers. 


CHAPTER X. 

WE GO TO AMBULANCE CLASSES. 

^‘You’ll be surprised to hear/’ began 
Pamela, with a pretty deprecatory air as we 
sat talking together the following Sunday 
evening, that after all I’m not going on the 
Stage.” 

William winked himself a congratulatory 
wink behind The Pelican ^ his favourite week- 
ly, on the success of his non-opposition sys- 
tem. Aloud he feigned disappointment. 

Pm sorry to hear that, Pamela, as I 
hoped through your influence to be given a 
free seat occasionally.” 

Paper,” corrected Olivia technically, 
not free, William. Unpaid places are al- 
ways called paper in the profession.” 
i8o 


WE GO TO AMBULANCE CLASSES. l8l 

‘‘ Oh, if the free seats are made of paper,’’ 
rejoined William, “ I haven’t lost much; for, 
taking my weight into consideration, I should 
have seen most of the play from the floor.” 

Olivia scorned further explanation. 

I’m sorry, William,” sighed Pamela; 
but, you see, I want to do some good in the 
world, and the Stage, you know, is — is mere 
play.” 

William assented. 

Sheer tomfoolery, I call it — anyone 
could do Irving’s part at the Lyceum. I’m 
sure I could with a little practice. So I’m 
going to be a hospital nurse,” continued 
Pamela solemnly. 

‘"What!” cried Belinda, laying down 
the book she was reading. Well, you 
won’t see much of me, I can tell you, if you’re 
going into that nasty profession. I’m not 
going to catch a fever and be sacrificed to a 
fashionable fad ” 


Here Pamela expressed some doubt as to 


1 82 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

whether she should be so anxious to see 
much of Belinda. On the whole she thought 
not. 

“ And if you do catch small-pox/' said I 
cheerfully, why it'll be in a good cause, 
won't it? " 

“We should always take it on trust that 
you were really our sister," added Jack, “ for 
of course if it were only chicken-pox you'd 
look a bit different from what you do now." 

Pamela rose from the hearthrug, where 
she had been seated, with as much dignity as 
a sharp attack of pins-and-needles in one foot 
would allow. 

“ I've written to all the principal hospi- 
tals in London, and asked them to send me 
particulars. I hadn't posted the letters be- 
cause I thought it right to tell you my plans 
first; but I shall take them to the pillar-box 
now, this minute!" 

Which resolve she carried out immedi- 
ately. 


WE GO TO AMBULANCE CLASSES. 183 

When the answers came Pamela found 
that few if any of the hospitals would take 
her as a probationer for several years to come. 

They seem to consider seventeen — near- 
ly eighteen — quite young! ’’ she cried indig- 
nantly, as if one didn’t know one’s own 
mind.” 

It’s more a question of not knowing 
one’s own constitution,” I interrupted sooth- 
ingly. '' However, you can ask them to put 
your name down as an intending probationer, 
and there are lots of ways to pass the time 

t 

between this and the date you enter. Nurses 
should always be able to cook a little, make 
beef-tea and jelly, and learn how to make a 
poultice.” 

But I can cook — at least, I can make 
curries and ginger-bread — and trim hats, and 
you can buy poultices ready-make now,” re- 
plied Pamela, still in an injured voice; I 
saw them at the Stores the other day. But, 
as you say, Maria, I can put my name down 


1 84 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

and wait. Don’t tell the others it will be 
four or five years before I get into a hospital. 
You’re the only one who has any sense in the 
family.” 

The Vicar encouraged Pamela in her idea 
pf nursing. He gave his advice with more 
assurance since we had taken it in the matter 
of handing over our late boarder’s baby to 
the care of a motherly woman in the neigh- 
bourhood, and assured us that having some 
fixed plan for the future not immediately 
practicable would prevent Pamela • from 
taking up some occupation hurriedly. 

She’s far too young and too pretty to 
go out into the world alone,” concluded the 
Vicar. 

One morning he came in to tell us that 
the chief doctor of the district, a great friend 
of his, was starting some lectures on First Aid 
to the injured in connection with the St. 
John’s Ambulance Society, and advised me 
to attend them — a clergyman’s wife, it ap- 


WE GO TO AMBULANCE CLASSES. 185 

peared, should be educated on the plan of a 
Jack-of-all-trades — and Pamela by also at- 
tending could lay a foundation for her future 
career. 

That was how we came to know Dr. An- 
drew Macgregor. 

Belinda refused to join the classes. She 
had a great dislike to illness, not from per- 
sonal experience, for hers was a pattern con- 
stitution, but from some innate repulsion. 

‘‘I shall die,'’ she often said, ‘^easily 
enough when the time comes, without con- 
stantly rehearsing beforehand.” 

Olivia, always athirst for knowledge, 
would doubtless have seized the opportunity 
had she not accepted the invitation of the 
Poet and his wife to go with them on an ex- 
cursion to Cornwall, whence she wrote to 
us, much about sea and sky, tenderly hop- 
ing we did not feel the August heat in Lon- 
don. Belinda after reading her letters re- 
marked that Olivia seemed to have forgotten 


1 86 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

that the Poet had included the typewriter 
in the invitation; for her part, travelling- 
with a machine that weighed twenty-four 
pounds and was liable to being smashed 
when roughly handled, would have taken 
the gilt ofif the gingerbread — otherwise Corn- 
wall. 

So through the hot days of August, Pa- 
mela and I studied Anatomy. We com- 
menced by learning the names of our own 
bones, of which we had hitherto been pro- 
foundly ignorant. Pamela complained she 
could never remember them all; she seemed 
to have as many as a herring. William 
feared I should find difficulty in locating 
mine. Maria,’’ he observed, with brother- 
ly candour, is so very well upholstered.” 

One morning the Doctor called to tell us 
that the hour of the Lecture was altered. 
Belinda only was at home, and promised to 
give us his message. 

I almost wish I had joined the Classes,” 


WE GO TO AMBULANCE CLASSES. 187 

she added; '' I had no idea compound frac- 
ture was so interesting.’’ 

Well, it’s much too late to commence 
now,” interposed Pamela hastily. You 
wouldn’t be allowed to go in for the examina- 
tion — but you might lend us your foot to 
bandage.” 

I can’t draw with you tickling my foot,” 
replied Belinda; but if you take the oppor- 
tunity any time you see me reading, you’re 
welcome.” 

We took our opportunity that same 
afternoon. Belinda was so engrossed 
with her novel, that she never looked up 
until we had finished. She was proud of 
her foot; it took a three, and owned an 
arched instep. She also held the theory 
that the truest economy is always to buy 
the best, and patronised an excellent shoe- 
maker. 

We called upon her to admire the band- 
aging. She gazed upon her supposititiously 

13 


1 88 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

injured limb with increasing horror, and 
grasped my arm nervously. 

‘‘ You never heard of gout in the family, 
did you, Maria? You're the eldest and 
should study hereditary tendencies. Fancy, 
if I ever had a foot like that — take it off! oh, 
take it off! It makes me feel sick to look 
at it." 

Not a word about our neat bandaging. 

William had no vanity. He lent himself, 
corporally, when at home with his usual large 
generosity. When he was out we made shift 
with Jack's lay figure, for in constant prac- 
tice lay success. After the third Lecture our 
knowledge of bandaging was extensive; to 
keep it in mind whilst we turned our atten- 
tion to fits, bites, burns, &c., which formed 
the subjects of the succeeding Lectures, we 
bandaged William's entire frame every even- 
ing. It was a long and rather inelegant 
frame, as we told its owner as he lay stretched 
upon the ever useful ironing-board; but he 


WE GO TO AMBULANCE CLASSES. 189 

heard not the remark, having dropped into a 
peaceful slumber. 

Here, wake up,’’ cried Pamela rudely, 
“ and apologise for only having one head, 
when we are both weak about the exact 
method of doing dislocated jaw-bones! ” 

‘‘You’ve got an arm each, and a leg,” 
grumbled the patient, resentful at being 
awakened. 

“ You can have his head, Pamela; I dare- 
say Theophilus will lend me his to-morrow 
morning. You not being engaged to him, 
might not care to ask for the loan.” 

“ I shouldn’t,” retorted Pamela; “ the 
brilliantine Theophilus uses is most objec- 
tionable.” 

I let this libel pass uncontradicted, being 
much engaged upon a fracture of William’s 
forearm. Now and again we dropped a choc- 
olate into his mouth to keep him contented. 
When half an hour had gone by, there was 
very little of the patient unbandaged. So in- 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


190 

teresting did he look from a surgical point of 
view, that we begged him to remain quiet 
whilst we rested and admired our handi- 
work. 

As we sat silent, the Vicar walked in 
through the open door; he had been away 
on his holiday, and had not witnessed our 
progress in applying aid to the injured. 

His first glance was — properly — toward 
me. It was a nice glance, and I wished the 
room were not so full of my relations. Then 
his eye fell upon William. The light of love 
died out, and an expression of concern shad- 
owed his countenance. Making a step for- 
ward, he cried: 

‘‘ William, my dear boy, an accident — 
your bicycle, alas! ’’ 

William had no histrionic ability. The 
groan he gave was inartistic, testifying to a 
healthy and uninjured constitution. No bat- 
tered frame could have emitted a groan of 
such strength and vigour. Jack burst into 


WE GO TO AMBULANCE CLASSES. 191 

a roar of laughter, heedless that the modern 
house has no foundations. 

Then William arose, stiffly, for our work 
was well done, and started a hornpipe. Be- 
linda caught him at the piano with a jig of 
her own composing. The bandages became 
unfastened, and flew round and round in wid- 
ening circles, until he looked like a windmill 
in a high gale decorated with ribbons. The 
splints fell off one by one as their binding 
loosened. Mary came in to ask the cause of 
the disturbance. 

“ Lor, Master William, talk about an 
odds-and-ends dance, it’s better than Miss 
B’linda’s! ” 

The Vicar’s face showed some trepidation 
that our late proper and uninteresting con- 
duct was not likely to endure. 

Writing to Uncle Joshua early the next 
morning, it occurred to me that he would 
be interested to hear about the Ambulance 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


192 

Lectures. I began by describing the Doc- 
tor. 

He is ’’ (I wrote) a Scotchman — very 
tall with a short black beard and a sunburnt 
complexion. His name is Macgregor.” 

On reading this over it sounded poor, and 
conveyed nothing of the Doctor's personal- 
ity. Perhaps Belinda could supply me with 
a descriptive phrase or two. She had of late 
developed a contempt for the jokes that had 
served us so long through so many happy 
years, and developed a wit of her own; she 
might hit upon an epigram to describe the 
Doctor. I went to find her. 

How," I began, would you describe 
the Doctor? " 

I shouldn't describe him," she answered 
irritably. I should say his name was Mac- 
gregor; that in itself describes him." 

“ But if you wanted to mention his chief 
characteristics, for instance? " 

^‘You could walk on his accent without 


WE GO TO AMBULANCE CLASSES. 193 

falling through/’ replied the fashion artist, 
pushing back her chair and looking critically 
at her drawing. 

I rather like the way the ends of his sen- 
tences go uphill, myself,” I hazarded. 

But Belinda didn’t. She pronounced it 
Edinburgh. I gather from her further re- 
marks that an accent is like a prophet — it has 
no honour in its own country. 

Then I tried Jack, who said: 

The Doctor — well, he smokes ripping 
tobacco! ” 

Pamela I found gazing dreamily out of an 
upstairs window. A garment that required 
mending lay neglected near her. My query 
was getting a little stereotyped. 

'' What do you think of the Doctor? ” 

Pamela started, and blushed a vivid crim- 
son. 

''Think? How did you know I was 
thinking of the Doctor, Maria? ” 

I did not until she had herself informed me. 


194 


BELINDA—AND SOME OTHERS. 


Tm just writing to Uncle/’ I explained, 
and I can’t find any suitable adjectives to 
describe the Doctor. This sounds poor.” 
And I read out what I had written. 

I should think it does,” she assented. 
Why, you haven’t said half — ^you’ve left out 
his eyes! ” 

What about them — does he squint? ” 

They’re a lovely clear grey, and can see 
through and through.” 

‘‘Through what?” 

“ His patients, of course.” 

“ Well, a good many invalids are hum- 
bugs,” I admitted; “but not all, surely.” 

“ I meant their ailments, of course. How 
silly you are this morning! He can diag- 
nose at a glance,” concluded Pamela, remem- 
bering the correct phrase at last. 

“ I made a note faintly in pencil on my 
letter: 

“ Doctor’s eyes — principle of new pho- 
tography — sees inside out.” 


WE GO TO AMBULANCE CLASSES. 195 

‘^What else?’’ I inquired aloud. 

'' Oh, then there’s his figure. Tell Uncle 
how athletic he is — he used to be in the 
County Eleven. He’s so strong, yet he’s so 
gentle. Have you noticed, Maria, how de- 
termined he is in getting his own way — yet so 
quietly, one hardly knows one has given in? ” 

Pamela paused. I made more notes on 
my letter, but I doubted whether Uncle 
would be interested. I could imagine him 
saying: 

I suppose the man gives lectures to fill 
up the time between seeing his patients.” 

^'Thanks!” I cried at last, when Pamela 
had finished enumerating the Doctor’s good 
points, both personal and professional, that 
will do nicely; now I’ll leave you to your 
mending.” 

She picked up the garment in some con- 
fusion, and I went to finish my letter. But it 
never was finished. I wrote a postcard in- 
stead, saying we were all alive, and hoped 


196 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

Uncle was the same; it was too warm to 
enter into details. Nevertheless I spent an 
hour with the pen in my hand, idly drawing 
on the blotting-paper; and sometimes I drew 
the face of Pamela, and sometimes the face of 
Andrew Macgregor. Pamela’s face was of 
the type that conveys the impression of a 
heart that surrenders at once where it loves — 
at once, freely, and for ever. Not like Be- 
linda, whose delight was to torture what at- 
tracted her, and who before many years had 
passed over her head had left more than one 
man in doubt as to whether he hated or loved 
her the most, and quite certain that it was 
possible to do both at once. Then I drew 
Theophilus and got a better likeness, until a 
blot fell from the pen and totally obliterated 
one eye, giving him a prize-fighting appear- 
ance not at one with his clerical tie and collar. 
I decided on a plan of action. 

Theophilus,” I began that evening, for 
he generally came for a short call after sup- 


WE GO TO AMBULANCE CLASSES. 197 

per, would you — could you — would it be 
very mean for you who know the Doctor so 
well to find out what he thinks of Pamela? ’’ 

The Vicar was somewhat dense, I confess 
it, though I frequently stood up for him when 
he was not present when this failing was men- 
tioned. He grew pale — or perhaps it was 
the moonlight, for we were seated in the 
garden. 

‘‘ She does look delicate,^’ he replied 
thoughtfully. That pink and white com- 
plexion. But has he seen her profession- 
ally? ’’ 

I explained that it was love I feared, not 
consumption, though, as someone of discrim- 
ination has pointed out, they are frequently 
one and the same thing. 

We have seen the Doctor several times 
— often, in fact, besides going to the Lec- 
tures. Pamela is very young, and suppose — 
I don’t know that she does — but just sup- 
pose she liked him, and he didn’t return ” 


igS BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

''What then?’’ asked the Vicar. Men 
always require a sentence to be finished, the 
two first words convey the situation to a 
woman. " Do you think she would fret her- 
self ill, or what? ” 

"Oh,” I cried, "it would hurt so! All 
the world would be like a suburb, and every 
day like — like Sunday!” 

I looked at my companion, expecting to 
see that struggle between his duty to re- 
prove and his desire to forgive so often 
written on his countenance, but it was 
adorned by a smile only — a self-depreca- 
tory smile, as one might wear who had 
been given more than his measure of happi- 
ness. 

" Would you have felt like that, if I hadn’t 
— hadn’t — Maria? ” 

After an interval, I remarked casually: 

" Do you know. I’ve noticed, Theo, since 
William pointed it out to me, that whatever 
subject we start talking about, you invariably 


WE GO TO AMBULANCE CLASSES. jgg 

contrive to bring the conversation round to 
your own affairs? 

'' Oh, William said that, did he? , Well, 
I must say there's nothing like getting en- 
gaged to become acquainted with one's 
own faults." 

Indeed, Belinda says she's sure I shall 
discover something terrible about you — when 
we are married. She has an idea that people 
with few faults have some dreadful vice in 
the background." 

Belinda's a naughty little puss," said the 
Vicar. 

It appeared time to go in. 

Theophilus delicately introduced Pamela 
as a topic of conversation when, soon after, 
he had a chat with Dr. Macgregor^ and was 
rewarded by his friend's full confidence. 

It's all right. There isn't a man more 
in love in the whole of Brick Park than Mac- 
gregor, except myself, of course." 

What did he say? " 


200 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. * 


‘'Say! what didn't he say? I went for 
ten minutes, and had to listen for a couple of 
hours. He said she was lovely — he loved her 
— he wasn't worthy of her love, but then what 
man could be? Would I say a good word 
for him to you and Belinda, especially Be- 
linda? " 

“ Belinda again? " I ejaculated. 

“ Yes, it appears when dealing with your 
family you can't reckon without Belinda. 
Macgregor says she has a great deal of 
character, and might perhaps influence Pa- 
mela against him. I told him," added The- 
ophilus gleefully, “ that Belinda laughed at 
him." 

“ Oh, you did, did you? And how did 
you know, pray? " 

“ Oh, I guessed," responded the Vicar 
lamely. “ Belinda laughs at everybody." 

“ Including you," I reminded him, for 
what right had he to give Belinda away? 
My doing so was another matter. She was 


WE GO TO AMBULANCE CLASSES. 2OI 

my own sister, and if you can't give away 
your own, what can you give? 

The Vicar seemed to know what was pass- 
ing in my mind, for he said: 

What's yours is mine, Maria." 


CHAPTER XL 

WE REQUIRE THE DOCTOR PROFESSIONALLY. 

Theophilus, though undeniably want- 
ing in humour, proved himself the possessor 
of much sympathy when Pamela fell ill to- 
ward the beginning of September. 

The examination on the Ambulance Lec- 
tures and all its consequent excitement being 
over left nothing behind it but to wait and 
wonder when we should hear whether we 
deserved a certificate or no. 

I found much difficulty in recollecting the 
directions for restoring the apparently 
drowned. On confiding this lapse of mem- 
ory to Belinda, she begged me to read the 
subject up again: 

For it has rained so much of late,’’ she 
202 


WE REQUIRE THE DOCTOR. 


203 

explained, that I am beginning to get 
quite nervous! ’’ 

This, of course, was an exaggerated ap- 
prehension. Still, it had rained persistently, 
and when the hot August sun shone out at 
intervals, the steam rose in a sultry mist from 
the ground, wrapping us in a continual va- 
pour bath. Belinda openly envied Olivia’s 
visit to Cornwall, even accompanied by the 
typewriter. Her editor thought she was out 
of town, she herself having led him to this 
supposition. 

He would presume if he knew I stayed 
in the suburbs all August, and be asking me* 
to touch up the prize competition drawings, 
or something equally undesirable.” 

So Belinda was away on the moors in 
Yorkshire; having done three weeks’ work 
in advance, she went with a clear con- 
science. When the proper time had elapsed 
she was again seen haunting a certain of- 
fice in Fleet Street. Her return was hailed 
14 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


204 

by a compliment on her invigorated appear- 
ance. 

I wish I could get away/’ sighed the 
editorial martyr to fashions. 

The sea is so cool after London,” mur- 
mured his contributor, forgetting the moors 
had been her destination. 

He declared I brought a whiff of sea-air 
into the room with me,” said Belinda when 
recounting this conversation, ‘‘ which speaks 
well for Tidman’s, which I use every morn- 
ing since I learnt that we have gout as well as 
Art in the family.” 

The boys went on a bicycle tour, for Wil- 
liam had a bona-fide holiday, and Jack, lucky 
being, was now successful enough to arrange 
his own leisure. We urged Pamela to write, 
or let us write, reminding Uncle of his prom- 
ise to invite her to stay with him, but she de- 
clared it would break her heart to go alone to 
Riverside, where she had once been so happy. 
Considering her youth, and hitherto happy 


WE REQUIRE THE DOCTOR. 205 

existence, Pamela, at this juncture of her life, 
was strangely partial to speaking and dwell- 
ing upon the past. She did not seem to take 
any interest in the present, and never spoke 
at all of the future. Possessed by some in- 
ability to settle down to any occupation, she 
dragged poor Jinks for miles along the hot 
suburban roads, until in pity for the animal 
we clipped him close, when he looked, as 
Mary expressed it, for all the world like a 
Skye poodle!’^ 

One afternoon she started for a long drive 
on the top of an omnibus, though it threat- 
ened the usual rain, and returned wet and 
shivering. Mary, who still treated her 
youngest young lady ’’ much as a child, 
helped her to bed. 

And there you’ll stay. Miss, for a couple 
of days, or my name isn’t Mary.” 

But the next morning showed that it 
would take more than a couple of days for 
Pamela to recover. We grew anxious when 


2o6 BELINDA— and SOME OTHERS. 

she sat up in bed querulously persisting that 
she must get up and arrange her room dif- 
ferently. Why had we moved everything 
from the place she liked it to be? Her mind 
had wandered to her old room at The Court, 
and all sense of her real surroundings had 
faded. 

We must send for the Doctor,’' I said to 
Belinda. 

“ It hardly seems correct,” replied my sis- 
ter, I thought at random until she continued: 

Even you, unobservant though you are, 
must have noticed that Pamela is desperately 
in love with Macgregor. Suppose she grew 
delirious, and told him so, she would never 
forgive us — yet if we send for another it will 
look strange ” 

‘‘ He’s in love with her too,” I inter- 
rupted, and Belinda looked relieved. 

You might have told me before, Maria; 
you don’t know how it’s worried me to see 
the child so unhappy.” 


WE REQUIRE THE DOCTOR. 20 ^ 

Belinda, though so casual on the surface, 
was really very affectionate. 

I might contrive to meet the Vicar after 
matins, and ask his opinion.’’ 

I think you might — you’ve done it so 
often on your own account, that you might 
do it again on somebody else’s.” 

The Vicar acted with decision. Mac- 
gregor’s away on his holiday. Didn’t you 
know? But I’ll go myself for his partner.” 

When the doctor arrived, he told us that 
Pamela had congestion of both lungs, and 
must have the most careful nursing. 

You must have a hospital nurse, Miss 
Chilcott. It’s a pity,” he added kindly, 
that Macgregor’s classes weren’t on ‘ Sick 
Nursing ’ in stead of ‘ First Aid,’ as then you 
might have done without a professional.” 

The nurse, a model of calm, orderly, yet 
sympathetic nursing, presented such a dainty 
picture in her soft grey dress, and pretty 
white cap and apron, that we feared she would 


2o8 BELINDA— and SOME OTHERS. 

encourage Pamela in her notion of taking up 
nursing as a profession. We would not al- 
low ourselves to think it possible for her 
never to get better at first, though the day 
came later when we had to admit there was a 
chance of her not being with us to choose any 
career at all. 

We wrote to Olivia, telling her to return 
at once. Olivia loved her sister with a pas- 
sionate devotion, which did not prevent them 
quarrelling frequently. The aim of her life 
was to become known — as a poetess for 
choice — and to make money, for which she 
feared it necessary to descend into the arena 
of fiction — and then to have Pamela to live 
with her, when every wish of that young per- 
sonas heart was to be gratified, and her beauty 
to be the shrine at which many — and here 
she did not wish all to be Bohemian — were 
to worship. 

And we wrote to Uncle, saying we would 
telegraph bad news and send a postcard of 


WE REQUIRE THE DOCTOR. 


209 


report every evening. We told him we 
had a nurse, also qualms as to how we 
were to meet expenses. He replied, ex- 
pressing great anxiety, and saying he con- 
sidered he had adopted our expenses for the 
present. 

The boys’ address we knew not. They 
had left so gaily, never anticipating anything 
out-of-the-way would occur in their absence. 
Jack had sent a few illustrations of incidents 
that had occurred on the way, without a line; 
even the postmark on the envelope being un- 
intelligible. 

‘‘ The drawings,” remarked Belinda, ex- 
plain themselves; mostly, I notice, to Wil- 
liam’s disadvantage.” 

They were due in a few days, for William’s 
holiday leave would then expire. We dread- 
ed to see his smile, as broad as it would be 
welcome, fade when we told him his sister’s 
life was in danger. 

For Pamela grew worse as each hot day 


210 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


lingered and faded, giving place to the sultry 
night. 

She'll be better or worse before the 
evening," said the doctor at his early visit; 
and we understood him to mean the crisis 
was approaching. 

‘‘ Andrew will be here by twelve," said the 
Vicar, suddenly. I wrote to him to come. 
This is no time to think of propriety." 

When he came, bringing with him an at- 
mosphere of quiet self-reliance, he went 
straight upstairs; only stopping to whisper 
he would come down at intervals to give us 
his opinion. 

Olivia sat • outside Pamela's door, which 
was as near as she was allowed, her arms fold- 
ed round her knees, leaning disconsolately 
against the door-post and bitterly reproach- 
ing herself that she had ever gone to Corn- 
wall. Olivia had a feeling, shared by many, 
that everything went wrong when she wasn't 
present; though no one else could trace any 


WE REQUIRE THE DOCTOR. 


211 


link between her absence and the catas- 
trophe. 

Belinda sat sketching in the conservatory, 
where she did most of her work in the morn- 
ings, not admitting there was any possible 
cause for anxiety, and speaking, as was her 
habit, as if she personally conducted circum- 
stances. Nevertheless, her drawing consist- 
ed mainly of rubbing out and sharpening 
pencils. Presently she found the heat strik- 
ing on the glass above her head overwhelm- 
ing, and looking through the dining-room 
and folding-doors, saw Theophilus and me 
seated in cooler comfort in the drawing- 
room. With one hand he held a newspaper, 
which he appeared to be reading, but I think 
he was praying; the other was clasped in 
mine. Belinda came in and sat down wear- 
ily, he dropped the paper and held out that 
hand to her with a smile. She took it absent- 
ly, after the method she kept for pulling Jin- 
kie’s ears, and we sat in silence. 


212 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


Mary stood at the back door to warn any 
tradesman’s boy entering to come quietly. 
In our small house every sound could be 
heard upstairs distinctly. Now and again 
she made a dive out into the road to silence 
some barrel-organ. One immigrant from 
the Italian shores, new to the ways of the 
London maidservant, not understanding her 
gesticulations, started playing; whereupon 
she first shoo’d at him with her apron, as if 
dispersing chickens, and then seized his piano 
by both handles and wheeled it to the turning 
of the road, pointing the way by which he 
was to vanish. He went, obediently, fearful 
of having done something illegal. 

So we sat on through the interminable 
morning; now and again the Doctor crept 
down in stockinged feet to say there was no 
change; and once Olivia, who had fallen 
asleep, woke hastily, and overcome by anx- 
iety, crept down to lay her head in my lap 
and sob wearily. She always feared the 


WE REQUIRE THE DOCTOR. 


213 

worst, having a temperament strangely com- 
pounded of pessimism and humour. 

A slight commotion, subdued yet excited, 
roused us to find out its reason. Creeping 
into the hall, we were confronted by Uncle 
Joshua and a porter with his luggage. The 
little man looked white and apprehensive; 
we beckoned him into the dining-room, and 
whispered our welcome and reports of the 
invalid. Mary brought in some tea, but he 
would not touch it. Looking the picture of 
desolation, he kept wandering from end to 
end of the room, muttering: 

‘‘ All my fault, all my fault, too! ’’ 

I tell you what it is. Uncle,’’ said Be- 
linda, you’ve run down, and got morbid 
and nervous. You’ve been living on weak 
tea and radishes — don’t deny it, weak tea and 
radishes! ” 

Uncle sat down by the table and gazed 
at her in a helpless, irresponsible fashion for 
a minute or so; then some funny side of the 


214 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

situation, unknown to us, appealed to him 
suddenly. He fell forward with his head on 
the table shaking with suppressed laughter, 
the result of alighting on comedy where only 
tragedy was expected. 

Andrew strode silently into the room; he 
frowned, who was this person overcome by 
such untimely hilarity? He made a step for- 
ward, and putting a strong hand on Uncle’s 
coat-collar, pushed rather than led him 
through the conservatory into the garden. 
Olivia followed, whispering: 

‘‘ It’s Uncle, and he’s not really laugh- 
ing.” 

It was two hours later, when we again 
heard the creak that the Doctor’s huge form 
caused the stairs to utter as he crept down 
them. We rose and moved toward the door, 
feeling instinctively he had more to tell us. 

The joy of victory showed in every line of 
his face — the triumph of life over death — ^joy 
for the life of the woman he loved, as well as 


WE REQUIRE THE DOCTOR. 215 

his professional joy over the patient that re- 
covereth. 

'' She’s asleep,” he whispered, and will 
wake to know us.” 

Theophilus opened his arms, and I fell 
into them; Olivia, having considerable ad- 
vantage in the matter of height, fell on Uncle; 
and Belinda — well, Belinda kissed the 
Doctor. 

And if I did,” she said afterward when 
rallied on this action, ‘‘ what then? You 
might know, as you went to Ambulance Lec- 
tures, that when a tension of mind breaks — 
if it breaks the wrong way, you faint, and if 
it breaks the right — you kiss what’s nearest. 
Besides, a kiss is like a quarrel, it takes two 
to make it!” 

Pamela lay very white and shadowy, but 
very beautiful, when one by one we were al- 
lowed to sit with her; the weather turned 
cooler and drier, and she mended with every 
morning. Wheji the boys returned, they af- 


2i6 BELINDA— and SOME OTHERS. 

fected to believe that we had exaggerated 
matters; but that was only to hide any dis- 
play of feeling. 

Belinda showed her thankfulness her own 
way; she bought some pretty blue flannel 
and fashioned into a smart little sitting-up 
jacket. She sang like a lark as she cut it out, 
sewed, and finished it all in one morning, and 
then called upon the whole household to ad- 
mire her in it. It was a mass of frills and, 
edged with lace and ribbon, the stitches were 
by no means invisible. 

‘‘ Of course we could have bought one for 
less than this cost in a shop, girls; but it 
wouldn't have pleased the child like this 
will.". 

Belinda’s economy ever lay in getting 
style for her money. 

The Doctor — so we heard — reproved his 
colleague sharply for not having sent for him 
sooner. 

I’m na saying you haven’t abeelity,’’ he 


WE REQUIRE THE DOCTOR. 217 

said, growing Scotch in his wrath, ‘‘ but you 
have also youth and inexpeerience/’ 

There were no complications,’’ replied 
the younger man, a little ruffled. 

‘‘ None that you understood,” retorted 
his senior rudely. 


CHAPTER XIL 


THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 

“ I’m not going to be a hospital nurse, 
after all — not because I’ve changed my mind, 
but because I’m going to marry the Doctor.” 

Pamela was too deeply absorbed in — too 
shyly elated at her news to observe that our 
surprise was a little over-acted. 

We kissed and congratulated her each 
after our individual fashion. 

“ It seems,” exclaimed Olivia, christen- 
ing the new joy with a few excited tears, “ al- 
most like having another clergyman in the 
family.” 

We pressed her to explain, when it turned 

out that the Doctor was so Scotch, talking 

to him was nearly as bad — or as good — as 

reading a modern Scotch novel; and Scotch 
218 


CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 219 

novelists seemed always to be ministers — 
more or less. Olivia's reasoning was so lo- 
cal, confined entirely to her own brain region. 

When the excitement had subsided, Be- 
linda, though on the whole greatly pleased, 
could not refrain from fearing — aloud — that 
both Pamela and I had been guilty of a social 
indiscretion. 

It is considered bad form," said the ora- 
cle, ‘‘ to fall in love with people whom you 
meet professionally — like the Vicar, or the 
Doctor. Yet perhaps, when the alternative 
is to earn your living, a little error of taste 
may be excused." 

Olivia blushed hotly as the speaker en- 
larged upon our lapse from the narrow way 
of etiquette, and observed, sarcastically, that 
if one waited to meet people without refer- 
ence to their occupation there was a good 
deal of danger of dying an old maid. 

‘‘ Besides, in these days," she concluded, 

“ a man's profession is like his shadow, al- 
15 


220 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


ways with him. The only time he forgets it 
is at luncheon, even shadows are ofif duty in 
the middle of the day.’’ 

Pamela affected indifference to this bone 
of contention; her pretty little air of superi- 
ority toward them both exasperated the for- 
mer exceedingly, and caused the latter to ap- 
pear constantly on the brink of telling some- 
thing, and then drawing back as if afraid to 
part with her secret. 

Mary, astonished at the turn events had 
taken, cast about in her mind for some means 
of breaking her promise to me without giving 
offence, so that she could ‘‘ take service ” 
with her dear Miss Pamela. She had a deep 
respect for Olivia’s cleverness, but turned to 
Belinda for help in this difficulty. 

For how Miss Pamela will get along 
without me when she becomes Mrs. Andrew 
Macgregory is more than I can tell on. Pve 
promised Miss Maria, and a promise is a 
promise. Do you think. Miss B’linda, that 


CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 221 

if I was to cook reglar awful for a few days, 
Miss Maria would give me notice beforehand, 
so to speak ” 

Belinda thought not. 

“ You see, Mary, Miss Maria never seems 
to know what she’s eating lately, though she 
used to be very particular — even greedy. 
And I don’t care about being hungry, as I 
should be if you cooked badly. No, you 
must think of another plan.” 

Finally Mary remembered she was 
“ chapel,” obviously it would be injurious 
to her conscience to “ take service ” with the 
Church. 

I agreed that it would, and she left the 
room beaming, to tell Pamela that she was 
“ given up by Miss Maria,” merely on ac- 
count of sectarian dififerences. 

Uncle, who had left London when Pamela 
was convalescent, wrote from the country 
asking us all to spend a month with him. 
But there were unfortunately obstacles in the 


222 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


way of this pleasant arrangement. William, 
for one, could not go; his holiday was over. 
Of late he had become irked by the narrow- 
ness of his life and the impossibility of rising 
unaided above a mere clerkship. He had 
dreams — a boy’s rose-coloured dreams of the 
ease with which a fortune is to be made on 
other and alien shores; but to leave England 
meant saving money for a start, and to save 
meant unceasing application to his work in 
hand. 

And Belinda’s holiday was over. She 
wished she had sacrificed appearances and ad- 
mitted being in town through August. 

‘‘ I never thought of this happening! ” 
she exclaimed disgustedly. 

Olivia too found duty imperative, which 
was not surprising, seeing her holiday had 
stretched over a couple of months. 

You might ask for one more week,” 
suggested Jack, who held a slight opinion of 
his sister officially. 


CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 223 

But Olivia was resolute. 

'' It would be unreasonable — and — and 
there’s my portrait, too, to be finished. The 
light will be dark in November,” she added, 
confusedly. 

Uncle replied to our objections by hoping 
that we could all spare from a Saturday to 
Monday; he ordered us to come in fact, hav- 
ing a little surprise ready for us. 

Jack, whose too sedentary occupation re- 
flected upon his spirits, felt sure that Joshua 
was intent upon marriage. 

Which will do away with any chance of 
my coming into The Court,” he sighed, as 
eldest nephew and heir presumptive.” 

Yes, you may depend upon it,” agreed 
Belinda, that he’s going to be married. 
Have you never noticed how events move in 
threes — first Maria, then Pamela; oh, there’s 
sure to be a third make a fool of themselves! ” 

Olivia rose suddenly from the table — this 
discussion took place during luncheon — on 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


224 

pretence of wanting some Worcester sauce 
with her custard. She often got up quickly 
at meals instead of ringing the bell, much to 
our discomfort; and would return after a 
short sojourn in the kitchen, looking as if 
she had helped herself to mustard in the pas- 
sage and found it warmer than she had ex- 
' pected. 

Belinda insisted on us wearing the best 
our wardrobes would afiford during our short 
stay at Riverside Court. 

For then, if the surprise is of a pleasant 
sort,'’ she argued, ‘‘ we shall at least look as 
if we had a right to the pleasures of life; and 
if it is of the unpleasant order, why we shall 
derive moral support from our clothes and 
appear indifferent to mere circumstances. I 
have always held, myself, that half the vaunt- 
ed repose of Vere de Vere was founded upon 
a French dressmaker." 

A few hours later we were treading the 
platform of a familiar station. There was no 


CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 22$ 

one to meet us — so we thought, until after a 
moment’s hesitation a smart footman stand- 
ing near Jack touched his hat with an inter- 
rogative Mr. Chilcott, sir? ” and led the 
way to a light wagonette drawn up outside 
the station. 

'' Uncle’s been deceiving us,” scribbled 
Belinda on her pocket notebook. I 
guessed so all along, but you must pretend to 
be surprised, to please him.” This she 
passed round for each to read, talking loudly 
the while of some changes in the road made 
since our departure. 

Uncle Joshua stood by the gate, a pleas- 
ant smile of welcome on his face, shadowed 
by a nervousness as to how we were taking 
his surprise.” The house as we had known 
it was there in all its picturesque familiarity; 
but oh, the difference inside and in the gar- 
den! The lawn, once so full of dips and 
bumps that it served almost equally well for 
golf-links or tennis-courts, now lay one great 


226 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

expanse of green, smooth, close-cut turf, and 
the half-dozen little terraces which led from it 
to the river were filled with trails of blossom- 
ing creepers, making one great bank of col- 
our. 

We felt in a land of dreams as Uncle led 
the way over the bridge across the river and 
into the kitchen-garden, showing this and 
that improvement and alteration proudly, yet 
anxious withal to assure us that none of the 
trees or shrubs — the old familiar landmarks 
of our youth — had been touched, none of the 
quaint irregularity of the paths interfered 
with. 

‘‘ I shall never forget how Olivia dropped 
tears upon this laurel-bush the day you left,” 
he said. ‘‘ I nearly let it all out that morn- 
ing; but I wanted to see how you would get 
on alone, and how you would treat me if I 
were a poor man, though originally I only 
meant you to be away while the house was 
done up; but you were so sure that I meant 


CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 22/ 

to turn you out, it amused me to let things 
drift awhile. By-the-by,’’ he continued po- 
litely, '' has the smell of varnish vacated your 
room yet? ’’ 

'' Tm having my portrait painted,” an- 
swered Olivia with irrelevant haste; perhaps 
the word varnish recalled the Academician. 

Indeed; I hope I may be allowed the 
first offer to purchase. It shall be the 
foundation of a modest collection.” 

Oh, but it's — he's Brown, R.A., you 
know,” continued Olivia proudly. 

“ Oh, he's Brown, R.A., is he? Well, 
perhaps even Brown, R.A., will sell it to the 
South African pauper.” 

This nickname fell guiltily upon our ears; 
how had he come to know of it? 

The boys were very silent, for men are 
constitutionally averse to having coals of 
fire ” heaped upon their heads. Women, on 
the other hand, feel they have the power to 
equalise matters by being gracious. 


228 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

Uncle left us together by the dog kennels 
a minute while he talked to a gardener. 

The kennels — where we had held debates 
on many matters, discussed books, formed 
plans, joked, quarrelled, made friends again, 
and been sufficient unto ourselves and care- 
less of everything else to an extent only 
understood by those who have made one of 
a large company of sisters and brothers. 
The place was strangely silent, no friendly 
yelp broke in upon an argument, or turned 
a youthfully sententious speech to ridicule. 
Jinks we had left against his will in London, 
and the puppies, like ourselves, had gone out 
into the world. 

The first chillness of Autumn crisped the 
September sunshine, almost the first leaf to 
fall fluttered to our feet. We felt afraid to 
look into each other’s eyes lest we should 
read regret. For young and old alike. Mel- 
ancholy marks memory for her own. Of 
course Uncle meant our visit kindly, and we 


CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 229 

would be cheerful, even facetious, for his 
sake, but we realised for the first time that 
soon we should be separated: Pamela and I 
would have new homes, new interests, new 
cares maybe. William would be across the 
seas. 

Poor Jack, as he looked round upon 
the improved and glorified edition of his old 
home, felt his last hope of passing a peaceful 
old age — he had always looked forward to a 
peaceful old age surrounded by a quantity of 
tobacco — slipping -fast away from him. He 
might just as well die as spend his declining 
years anywhere else. 

‘‘Why do you look so glum. Jack? 
queried Belinda, herself the only entirely 
cheerful one. 

Of course hedl marry,’’ murmured Jack 
in reply. 

“ And have ten children,” asserted Olivia 
sweepingly. 

“ Not if I can help it! ” cried Belinda, re- 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


230 

plying to Jack; though it sounded as if she 
meant to interfere to prevent the second 
prophecy. 

He has a right to be happy/’ maintained 
Pamela stoutly. 

Ah! you, of course, are a judge in such 
matters,” put in William. 

Well, it’s the place I care for, not the 
money,” said Jack again, throwing pebbles 
into the river. 

If Uncle had criticised our suburban fur- 
nishing with candour, we returned the com- 
pliment freely, when on returning to the 
house we found it redecorated as well as re- 
furnished from the gabled attics to the cel- 
lars underground. 

Excellent taste. Uncle,” this from Be- 
linda, exquisite colouring. No makeshift 
or imitation here: of course you didn’t do it 
yourself; but the arranging — why, there’s 
none; it’s simply thrown together. It wants 
a woman to do that for you.” 


CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 23 1 

She stopped to pull a chair forward and 
push another back, draw down a blind half- 
way, and gather a curtain into graceful folds. 
The room at once gained in grace and hospi- 
tality. 

That’s just it! ” cried Joshua delighted- 
ly; ^‘just what I’ve been saying to myself — 
it wants a woman.” And he looked round 
for general assent. 

So the blow had fallen. He had asked us 
down to make acquaintance with a prospec- 
tive aunt. After all, the surprise partook 
more of the unpleasant order. I tried to de- 
rive the promised moral support from my 
best parasol; it was an en tout cas, and guar- 
anteed serviceable for all weathers. 

‘‘ You will be getting married. Uncle? ” 
I hazarded. 

A shadow fell on Joshua Chilcott’s face. 

I should have married years ago,” he 
said simply; ‘‘ but she — she died. I shall 
never marry now, children.” 


232 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


That last word told us all we wanted to 
know, but for the moment we forgot our own 
hopes and fears. My eyes filled with tears, 
and Pamela's too were full as she took Uncle's 
hand between her own and held it very close. 
Olivia's young face grew still and grave. 
Why? She had not experienced Love, that 
comes as a thief in the night, and makes or 
mars a life's happiness! 

Belinda murmured something sympa- 
thetic, but it was Jack's arm she squeezed, not 
Uncle's. 

Christmas time saw us again visiting 
The Court. We had returned to town 
after that September day when we learned 
that Uncle stood — financially — somewhere 
half-way between a millionaire and a pauper. 
Much had happened in the autumn. We 
gave up our little house in Triangle Lawn, 
and removed the furniture to a bright roomy 
studio in a more fashionable locality, where 


CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 233 

Jack decided to continue his artistic strug- 
gles, after exchanging the pen of the illustra- 
tor for the brush and palette of .oil-colours. 

Olivia, whom nothing would tempt from 
London for long, offered Jack her services as 
housekeeper, and Mary offered hers as do- 
mestic until Mrs. Andrew Macgregory 
should need her. He accepted both cheer- 
fully. Uncle gave them each an allowance 
larger than our whole united income had been 
previously. The intellectual atmosphere of 
literary and artistic Bohemia, combined with 
lavish personal expenditure, suited Olivia ex- 
actly, and acted as a stimulus to her own am- 
bitions. She published a book of poems 
under her own name in which pessimism and 
humour struggled for supremacy, became a 
prominent member of an aesthetic club, and 
refurnished the studio at intervals of a few 
weeks or so. 

William, installed as Uncle’s man of busi- 
ness, with a trip to South Africa in prospect, 


BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 


234 

lived for some time in a continual state of 
feeling he would wake up suddenly, for, as he 
expressed it, it was out of all reason to begin 
life at the wrong end of the ladder. He was 
seen frequently to measure himself round the 
waist, and on finding it still of respectably 
moderate dimensions, concluded he was the 
first instance on record of prosperity having 
come to anyone without bringing an increase 
of flesh in proportion. 

Belinda, on the contrary, took to riches as 
a duckling to water; her one trial was when 
there were so many charming roles for the 
young and modern woman of money to play, 
that she could not decide which line to adopt, 
when all were so fascinating. 

For of course I shall succeed in what- 
ever I take up,” she explained modestly. 

And we, knowing her so well, could not 
deny it. 

Andrew and Theophilus contrived to 
spend the New Year with us. Uncle had in- 


CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 235 

sisted upon a year elapsing before we were 
to marry. 

“To give us time to think about settle- 
ments/’ was his way of putting it. 

This delay did not prevent Pamela from 
deciding every detail of the ceremony. She 
dedared the bridesmaids’ dresses — we were 
both to be married on the same day — should 
be blue, a shade to which Olivia objected. 

“ What would you have then? ” asked 
Pamela, anxious to be conciliatory in her 
happiness. 

“ Brown, R.A,” replied Olivia dreamily, 
and went on to tell us how she had promised 
to take that colour for better or worse 
through life. 

“ Well, it’s a good wearing colour,” said 
the Vicar thoughtfully. 

“And he’s a good fellow,” added Jack, 
who had been let into the secret some time 
back. 

Andrew turned to Belinda, who stood be- 
16 


236 BELINDA— AND SOME OTHERS. 

side Uncle, Jinks at her feet, all three looking 
out of the window. 

When are you going to follow our ex- 
ample? ” he began teasingly. 

I mean to have a good time first — with 
Uncle.’’ 

And the Doctor looked — as he was meant 
to look — foolish. 

And Belinda is — as yet, Belinda. 


THE END. 


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211. A Pir,c\beck Goddess. By Mrs. J. 

M. Fleming (A. M. Ejpling). 

212. Perfection City. By Mrs. Orpen. 

213. A Spotless Reputation. By D. 

Gerard. 

214. A Galahad of the Creeks. By S. L. 

Yeats. 

215. The Beautiful White Devil. By G. 

Boothby. 

216. The Sun of Saratoga. By J. A. 

Altsheler. 

217. FiercehearU the Soldier. By J. C. 

Snaith. 

218- Marietta's Marriage. By W. E. 
Norris. 

219. Dear Faustina. By R. Broughton- 

220. Nulma. ByMrs. Campbell-Praed. 

221. The Folly of Pen Harrington. By 

J. Sturgis. 

222. A Colonial Free-Lance, By C. C. 

Hotchkiss. 

223. His Maiesty^s Greatest Subject. By 

S. S. Thorburn. 


APPLETONS’ TOWN AND COUNTKY lAERKRY.— {Continued,) 


224. Mifanwy : A Welsh Singer. By A. 

Raine. 

225. A Soldier of Manhattan. By J. A. 

Attiqxjvti?o 

220. Fortnne''8 Footballs. By G. B. 
Burgin. 

227. The Clash of Arms. By J. Bloun- 

DELLE- Burton. 

228. God's Foundling. By A. J. Daw- 

son. 

229. Miss Providence. By D. Gerard. 

230. The Freedom of Henry Meredyth. 

By M. Hamilton. 

231. Sweethearts and Friends. By M. 

Gray. 

232. Sunset. By B. Whitby. 

233. A Fiery Ordeal. By Tasma. 

234. A Prince of Mischance. By T. Gal- 

lon. 

235. A Passionate Pilgrim. By P. 

White. 

236. This Little World. By D. C. Mur- 

ray. 

237. A Forgotten Sin. By D. Gerard. 


238. The Incidental Bishop. By G. 

Allen. 

239. The Lake of Wine. By B. Cares. 

240. A Trooper of the Empress. By C. 

Ross. 

241. Torn Sails. By A. Raine. 

242. Materfamilias. By A. Cambridge. 

243. John of Strathbourne. By R. D. 

Chetwode. 

244. The Millionaires. By F. F. Moore. 

245. The Looms of Time. By Mrs. H. 

Fraser. 

246. The Queen's Cup. By G. A. Henty. 

247. Dicky Monteith. By T. Gallon. 

248. The Lust Of Hate. By G. Boothby. 

249. The Gospel Writ in Steel. By Ar- 

thur Paterson. 

250. The Widower. By W. E. Norris. 

251. The Scourge of God. By J. 

Bloundelle -Burton. 

252. Concerning Isabel Carnaby. By 

Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler. 

253. The Impediment. By Dorothea 

Gerard. 


“In this iarc^e collection the purchaser can hardly make a mistake, as in 
the series will be found leading works of fiction, written by leading 
authors.” — New York Times. 

“ In their ‘ Town and Country Library,’ as it is known familiarly, the 
Messre. Appleton have been remarkably successful, both in preserving a 
good standard and in the matter of popularity. Presumably this is one of 
the very few efforts of the kind which have been successful for more than a 
few months. And we think the secret of continued success lies in the dis- 
crimination used in selecting tales that are clean, pure, and withal of interest 
to the average reader’s intmligence ; and, furthermore, to the fact that the 
editors have been using American stories more and more frequently.” — 
Neiv York Mail and Express. 

“ The percentage of excellence maintained throughout has been ex- 
traordinary. It is probably within bounds to say that no other list of legiti- 
mate fiction can snow so man^y names of the first rank as judged by 
popularity. From time to time in this manner new and powerful pens are 
mtroduced.” — Rochester Herald. 

“The red-brown covers of ‘ Appletons’ Town and Country Library ’ 
have come to be an almost inevitable sign of a story worth reading. . . . 
Not a poor story can be found in any one of them.” — Boston Household. 

“ The red volumes of ‘ The Town and Country Library’ ... are well 
known all over the United States, and it is uncommon to enter a drawing- 
room car on a railroad train without seeing two or three of them in hand or 
strapped in the wraps. They cover the best English fiction outside the 
magazines and the novels of* a few privileged writers who make special 
arrangements with special publishers.” — Worcester Gazette, 


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“ None who read it will gainsay its power and effectiveness.” — New York Times. 
“ Its strength grasps you at the beginning and holds you to the end. There is in it 
something of the fervor of true prophecy.” — Chicago Journal. 

” A book of wonderful power and force.” — B7-ooklyn Eagle. 

” The public is hardly prepared for so remarkable a performance as * The Christian.* 
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HE MANXMAN. $1.50. 

Mr. Caine has written well and nobly. 


Boston Herald, 


** May easily challenge comparison with the best novels of the latter part of 
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** Hall Caine has already given us some very strong and fine work, and * The 
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(New copyright edition^ revised by the author.) 


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reader clear away from the sensational and feverish and unhealthy romance and give 
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'J^HE LITTLE 


MANX NATLON. fi.oo. 


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NOVELS BY MAARTEN MAARTENS. 

Each, i2mo, cloth, $^.50. 

ER MEMOR Y, With Photogravure Portrait. 


After Maarten Maartens’s long silence this new example of his fine literary 
art will be received with peculiar interest. He offers in this book a singularly delicate 
and sympathetic study of character. 

Maarten Maartens took us all by storm some time ago with his fine story chris' 
tened ‘God’s Fool.’ He established himself at once in our affections as a unique crea- 
ture who had something to say and knew how to say it in the most fascinating way. 
He is a serious story writer, who sprang into prominence when he first put his pen to 
paper, and who has ever since kept his work up to the standard of excellence which he 
raised in the beginning.” — New York Herald. 

'J^HE GREATER GLORY. A Story of High Life. 

“Until the Appletons discovered the merits of Maarten Maartens, the fore- 
most of Dutch novelists, it is doubtful if many American readers knew that there were 
Dutch novelists. His ‘ God’s Fool’ and ‘ Joost Avelingh ’ made for him an American 
reputation. To our mind this work is his best. . . . He is a mai.ter of epigram, an 
artist in description, a prophet in insight.” — Boston Advertiser. 

“ It would take several columns to give any adequate idea of the superb way in 
which the Dutch novelist has developed his theme and wrought out one of the most 
impressive stories of the period. ... It belongs to the small class of novels which one 
can not afford to neglect.” — San Francisco Chronicle. 

“ Maarten Maartens stands head and shoulders above the average novelist of the 
day in intellectual subtlety and imaginative —Boston Beacon. 

^OD'S FOOL. 

“ Throughout there is an epigrammatic force which would make palatable a less 
interesting story of human lives or one less deftly to\d.” —London Saturday Review. 

“ A remarkable work.” — New York Times. 

“ Maarten Maartens has secured a firm footing in the eddies of current literature. 

. . . Pathos deepens into tragedy in the thrilling story of ‘ God’s Fool.’ "—Philadel- 
phia Ledger. 

“Its preface alone stamps the author as one of the leading English novelists of 
to-day.” — Boston Daily Advertiser. 

“ A story of remarkable interest and point.”— York Observer. 


J 


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“Aside from the masterly handling of the principal characters and generd in- 
terest in the story, the series of pictures of Dutch life give the book a charm peculiarly 
its own.” — New York Herald. 

“ Can be heartily recommended, both from a moral and artistic standpoint. New 
York Mail and Express. 

“ So unmistakably good as to Induce the hope that an acquaintance with the Dutch 
literature of fiction may soon become more general among us.” — London Morning 
Post. 


“A novel of a very high type, 
istic.” — London Literary World. 


At once strongly realistic and powerfully ideal- 


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SOME CHOICE FICTION. 



VELYN INNES. A Story. By George Moore, 
author of “ Esther Waters,” etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


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ci-^es a peculiar fascination for cultivated people. . . . There are splendid interpreta- 
tions of Wagner’s best works, of the differences betvreen ancient and modern music, of 
tne weaknesses of agnosticism, and of the impossibility of finding happiness and free- 
dom from misery in a life of sin. Ihe manner of the doing is wonderfully fine. Mr. 
Moore’s artistic treatment provokes one’s admiration again and again. ... It seems 
as if one could pass over no single sentence without losing something. . . . The appeal 
of the book is to the class of people best worth writing for, cultivated, intellectual people, 
who can appreciate something better than the commonplace stories which invariably 
come out right. Its literary quality is high ; there are very fine things about it, and one 
feels that ‘ Evelyn Innes ’ is the work of a master.” — Boston Herald. 


“ In ‘Evelyn Innes’ Mr. Moore joins to microscopic subtlety of analysis a sense of 
the profound and permanent things in human life which is rarely to be encountered 
anywhere save in works of great breadth. . . . The method is with Mr. Moore an affair 
of piercing and yet tender insight, of sympathy as well as science. . . . ‘Evelyn Innes’ 
will greatly strengthen the author’s position. It speaks of a powerful imagination, and, 
even more, of a sane and hopeful view of human life.” — New York Tribune. 

“ The book is one which, while in no respect dramatic, is still profoundly interest- 
ing . . . It is bound to be read with ever wider attention being drawn to its merits as 
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antiques of music, and altogether a praiseworthy contribution to the best works of the 
modern English realistic school.” — Philadelphia Item. 

“ Assuredly to be accounted a work of art in an exacting field.” — London Morning 
Post. 


“Space is left us for almost unadulterated praise. This is the sanest, the most 
solid, the most accomplished book which Mr. Moore has written.” — London Saturday 
Review. 


“Virile and vivid. It has distinction and grace.” — San Francisco Call. 
“Sure to be widely read.” — Brooklyn Standard-Union. 

Fascinati igly written.” — Cleveland Plain Dealer. 


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RONSTADT. A Romance. By Max Pemberton. 
Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


“ ‘Kronstadt’ is beyond measure superior in all respects to anything Mr. Pember- 
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and cleverly told. It grips the attention in the first paragraph, and whirls one in t- 
sistibly along through all the stirring incidents of its skillfully devised plot, giving 01 e 
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pages in It.” — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

“ An exceedingly well-written story of adventure, original in plot, skillful in char- •> 
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^ “ There is a breathless Interest about the tale which will not permit you to lay it 
aside until the whole adventure is mastered.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 


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By S. R. CROCKETT. 

Uniform edition. Each, i2mo, cloth, $1.50, . 

^HE STANDARD DEARER, An Historical 

Romance. 


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1898 have passed without bringing to the reviewers’ desk anything to be compared 
with it in beauty of description, convincing characterization, absorbing plot and humoi- 
ous appeal. The freshness and sweet sincerity of the tale are most invigorating, and 
that the book will be very much read there is no possible doubt.” — Bcsion Budget. 

“The book will move to tears, provoke to laughter, stir the blood, and evoke hero- 
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“ It seems to us that there is in this latest product much of the realism of per- 
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the writer’s personality does not present itself in Saunders McQuhirr. . . . Rarely has 
the author drawn more truly from life than in the cases of !Nance and ‘the Hempie’; 
never more typical Scotsman of the humble sort than the farmer Peter Chrystie. ’ — 
London A thenceu 7 n. 


^LEG KELLY, ARAB OF THE CITY, His 

Progress and Advetitures. Illustrated. 

“ A masterpiece which Mark Twain himself has never rivaled. ... If there ever was 
an ideal character in fiction it is this heroic ragamuffin.” — London Daily Chronicle. 

“ In no one of his books does Mr. Crockett give us a brighter or more graphic 
picture of contemporary Scotch life than in ‘Cleg Kelly.’ . . . It is one of the great 
books.” — Bostoji Daily Advertiser. 

OG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. Third edition. 

“ Here are idyls,, epics, dramas of human life, written in words that thrill and 
burn. . . . Each is a poem that has an immortal flavor. They are fragments of the 
author’s early dreams, too bright, too gorgeous, too full of the blood of rubies and the 
life of diamonds to be caught and held palpitating in expression’s grasp.” — Boston 
Courier. 

“ Hardly a sketch among them all that will not afford pleasure to the reader for 
its genial humor, artistic loc^ coloring, and admirable portrayal of character. ” — Boston 
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‘ A love story, pure and simple, one of the old fashioned, wholesome, sun- 
shiny kind, with a pure-minded, sound-hearted hero, and a heroine who is merely a 
good and beautiful woman ; and if any other love story half so sweet has been written 
this year it has escaped our notice.” — New York Times. 

“ The general conception of the story, the motive of which is the growth of love 
between the young chief and heroine, is delineated with a sweetness and a freshness, 
a naturalness and a certainty, which places ‘The Lilac Sunbonnet’ among the best 
stories of the time.” — New York Mail and Express. 


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NCLE BERNAC, A Romance of the Empire^ 

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‘Uncle Bernac’ is lor a truth Dr. Doyle’s Napoleon. Viewed as a picture of the 
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‘ B'rom the opening pages the clear and energetic telling of the story never falters 
and our attention never flags.” — London Observer, 


ODNE V STONE. Illustrated. 

** A remarkable book, worthy of the pen that gave us ‘ The White Company,' 
‘Micah Clarke,’ and other notable romances.” — London Daily News. 

“ A notable and very brilliant work of genius.” — Lo7tdon Speaker. 

“ ‘ Rodney Stone ’ is, in our judgment, distinctly the best of Dr. Conan Doyle's 
novels. . . . There are few descriptions in fiction that can vie with that race upon the 
Brighton road.” — London Thnes. 



HE EXPLOITS OF BRIGADIER GERARD. 

A Romance of the Life of a Typical Napoleonic Soldier. Illus- 
trated. 


“The brigadier is brave, resolute, amorous, loyal, chivalrous; never was a foe mor^ 
ardent in battle, more clement in victory, or more ready at need. . . . Gallantry, humoi, 
martial gayety, moving incident, make up a really delightful book.” — London Times. 

“ May be set down without reservation as the most thoroughly enjoyable book that 
Dr. Doyle has ever published.” — Boston Beacon, 



HE STARE MUNRO LETTERS, Being a 

Series of Twelve Letters written by Stark Munro, M. B., 
to his friend and former fellow-student, Herbert Swanborough, 
of Lowell, Massachusetts, during the years 1881-1884. Illus- 
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“ Culliiigworth, i . . a much more Interesting creation than Sherlock Holmes, and 
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OUND THE RED LAMP. 

Fancies of Medical Life. 


Being Facts ani 


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keep one’s heart leaping to the throat, and the mind in a tumult of anticipation to the 
end. . . . N o series of short stories in modem literature can approach them.” — Haru 
ford Times, 


“If Dr. A. 'Conan Doyle had not already placed himself in the front rank of living 
English writers by ‘ The Refugees,’ and other of his larger stories, he would surely dr 
?o by these fifteen short tales.” — New York Mail and Express. 


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“The historian of the plains has done nothing better than this group of Western 
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Story of Political Warfare. 


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West. 


A Story of the Modern 


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est.” — Philadelphia R eco rd. 

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“ One of the most remarkable and powerful of the year’s cpiitributions, worthy to 
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“‘Into the Highways and Hedges ’is a book not of promise only, hut of high 
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DAUGHTER OF TO— DAY. A Novel. i2mo* 

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SOCIAL DEPARTURE : How Orthodocia and I 
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(TUNSET. 


** * Sunset ’ will fully meet the expectations of Miss Whitby’s many admirers, 
while for those (if such there be) who may not know her former books it will form a 
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book.” — Boston Saturday Evening Gazette. 


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N THE SUN TIME OF HER YOUTH. 


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N THE LAKE OF LUCERNE^ and other Stories, 

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V ery dainty, not only in mechanical workmanship but in matter and manner.”— 
Boston A dvertiser. 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY’S PUBLICATIONS 


FELIX GRAS’S ROMANCES. 


'T^HE TERROR. A Romance of the French Revo- 
lution. By Felix Gras, author of “ The Reds of the Midi.” 
Uniform with “ The Reds of the Midi.” Translated by Mrs. 
Catharine A. Janvier. i6mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

Gras had never done any other \vork than this novel, it would at once 
give him a place in the front rank of the writers of to day. . . . ‘ The Terror’ is a story 
that deserves to be widely read, for, while it is of thrilling interest, holding the reader s 
attention closely, there is about it a literary quality that makes it worthy of something 
more than a careless perusal.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 

“ Romantic conditions could hardly be better presented than in a book of this kind, 
and above all, in a book by F61ix Gras. . . . The romance is replete with interest.” — 
New York Times. 

“There is genius in the book. The narrative throbs with a palpitation of virile 
force and nervous vigor. Read it as a mere story, and it is absorbing beyond descrip> 
tion. Consider it as a historical picture, . . . and its extraordinary power and sig- 
nificance are apparent.” — Philadelphia Press. 

“The book maybe recommended to those who like strong, artistic, and exciting 
romances.” — Boston Saturday Evenhig Gazette. 

“ Many as have been the novels which have the Revolution as their scene, not one 
surpasses, if equals, in thrilling interest.” — Cleveland Plain Dealer, 



HE REDS OE THE MIDI, An Episode of the 

French Revolution. By Felix Gras. Translated from the 
Provengal by Mrs. Catharine A. Janvier. With an Introduction 
by Thomas A. Janvier. With Frontispiece. i6mo. Cloth, 
$1.50. 


“ I have read with great and sustained interest * The Reds of the South,* which you 
were good enough to present to me. Though a work of fiction, it aims at painting the 
historical features, and such works if faithfully executed throw more light tlian many 
so called histories on the true roots and causes of the Revolution, which are so widely 
and so gravely misunderstood As a novel it seems to me to be written with great 
—WilLiayn E. Gladstone. 


“Patriotism, a profound and sympathetic insight into the history of a great epoch, 
and a poet’s delicate sensitiveness to the beauties of form and expression have com- 
bined to make M F61ix Gras’s ‘ The Reds of the Midi ’ a work of real literary value. 
It is as far as possible removed from sensationalism ; it is, on the contrary, subdued, 
simple, unassuming, profoundly sincere. Such artifice as the author has found it 
necessary to employ has been carefully concealed, and if we feel its presence, it is only 
because experience has taught that the quality is indispensable to a work which affects 
the imagination so promptly and with such force as does this quiet narrative of the 
French Revolution .” — New York Tribune. 

“It is doubtful whether in the English language we have had a more powerful, 
impre-sive, artistic picture of the French Revolution, from the revolutionist’s point of 
view, than that presented in Felix Gras’s ‘The Reds of the Midi.’ . . . Adventures 
follow one another rapidly ; splendid, brilliant pictures are frequent, and the thread of 
a tender, beautiful love story winds in and out of its pages .”— York Mail and 
Express. 


D. APPLETON AND COxMPANY. NEW YORK. 



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